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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28280358">A Very Moosey Ficmas</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/homoose/pseuds/homoose'>homoose</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Criminal Minds (US TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/F, F/M, Gen, Lots of pairings, M/M, gn!reader in several!, rossi as santa!!!!!!!!!!!!!!, some garvez!!!!!!!!!!!!!, some morcia!!!!!!!!!!!, this is a christmas fic series guys</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 22:42:22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>20,191</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28280358</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/homoose/pseuds/homoose</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Summary: EWA verse Spencer helps reader make a Christmas dessert. Based on the prompt: You called me at two in the morning insisting that I come over and help you bake Christmas cookies for the party tomorrow because you forgot to make them earlier and now need help.</p><p>Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader</p><p>Category: fluff</p><p>Warnings/Includes: none!</p><p>a/n: A Very Moosey Ficmas Day 1! This can stand alone, but it’s also part of the Enter With Abandon verse. For reference, they’re gonna be cooking a lot together in that series.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Aaron Hotchner/Reader, Aaron Hotchner/You, Emily Prentiss/Reader, Luke Alvez/Penelope Garcia, Penelope Garcia/Derek Morgan, Spencer Reid/Reader, Spencer Reid/You, Tara Lewis/Reader</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>40</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Cooking Up Some Magic</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Summary: EWA verse Spencer helps reader make a Christmas dessert. Based on the prompt: You called me at two in the morning insisting that I come over and help you bake Christmas cookies for the party tomorrow because you forgot to make them earlier and now need help.</p><p>Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader</p><p>Category: fluff</p><p>Warnings/Includes: none!</p><p>Word count: 1,328</p><p>a/n: A Very Moosey Ficmas Day 1! This can stand alone, but it’s also part of the  Enter With Abandon verse. For reference, they’re gonna be cooking a lot together in that series.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Spencer woke to the sound of his phone buzzing, and he groaned aloud. Serial killers really couldn’t just take <em>one</em> day off. Not even on Christmas Eve.</p><p>He rolled over and squinted at the alarm clock reading 1:58am. So technically, not even on Christmas Day. He snatched his phone from the nightstand. “Yeah,” he huffed.</p><p>“Oh, I’m—” The voice on the other end of the phone was decidedly not Hotch. There was some shuffling and then a muttered curse before the voice returned, whispering, “Jesus Christ— I’m sorry. I didn’t realize what time it was. Goodnight, Merry Christmas.”</p><p>The line went dead and Spencer pulled the phone away to stare at the call screen. He flopped back onto the bed, now certain that sleep would be out of the question. Especially now that he could hear the distinct clanging of pots and pans through the thin walls of his apartment.</p><p>He sighed and sat up, running a hand over his tired face. He stood and shuffled across his bedroom, grabbing a sweatshirt and pulling it over his bare chest on his way to the living room. Stuffing his feet into his house shoes, he unlocked the dead bolt and stepped out into the hallway, pulling the door closed behind him.</p><p>He walked the fifteen steps to her door and knocked, stifling a yawn behind his hand. By the way the movement inside continued uninterrupted, he knew she hadn’t heard him. He knocked again. The clanging stopped, and he heard her pad across the apartment. After a moment, the dead bolt clicked, and she opened the door with a sheepish grimace.</p><p>“I’m <em>so</em> sorry, Spencer. I didn’t mean to wake you up.”</p><p>It took his brain a moment to catch up with his mouth. “It’s fine,” he mumbled. His eyes tracked over his neighbor— flannel pajamas, disheveled hair, flushed cheeks, and a dusting of flour on her nose. Something about the simple domesticity had him frazzled, and he stuttered out, “I, um—I was awake anyway.”</p><p>She laughed at that. “Your hair tells a very different story.” She leaned up and ran her hand over his disorderly curls, smoothing a few back into place. Her eyes moved from where they were focused on the task to meet his own, and he swallowed audibly. She pulled back quickly, cheeks flushing a deeper red. “Um. Well. Since you’re already awake…”</p><p>He shrugged, trying to stay as nonchalant as possible. “With all that banging around, there’s no way I’ll be able to fall back asleep anyway.”</p><p>She clapped her hands together. “That’s the spirit!” She grabbed his hand and pulled him over the threshold, closing the door behind him. “I need your help.”</p><p>The kitchen was a disaster. Over the past three months, they’d spent many an evening together in their respective kitchens. Y/N’s was always a little less orderly than his own, but he’d never seen it quite like this. “What are you making?” he asked hesitantly.</p><p>“Okay so, we all have to bring something to family Christmas. I usually do store bought because—well, you know why,” she laughed. “But I thought since my cooking skills have improved over the last year, I’d at least <em>try</em> to make something from scratch.” She swiped her arm over her face, smearing a little bit of chocolate batter across her forehead. “The only problem is, I got assigned dessert. And baking is not the same as cooking.”</p><p>She was right, of course. Baking was, quite literally, measured. Precise. Rigid. Baking verged on scientific, which is why Spencer was so good at it. It was all rule following and staying in the lines, and he liked it that way.</p><p>Cooking required creative interpretation and improvisation, two things that Spencer had never considered himself to be very skilled at. He balked when a recipe called for <em>a dash of salt</em>, or asked him to <em>season to taste</em> while <em>stirring occasionally</em>. If he had to make a substitution, well then, he just wouldn’t be making the dish at all.</p><p>That was, until he started cooking with Y/N. Admittedly not a very good cook either, she was much more open to taking risks or trying something new. He really, <em>really</em> liked that about her. What he liked more, however, was that she encouraged him to take risks, too.</p><p>She had quickly transitioned from neighbor to friend. And sometimes, in his quiet moments alone, he thought about what it might be like if she became something more. Especially when she was looking at him like that, eyes soft and lips curved into a playful smile. Staring at him and waiting for him to respond, he realized.</p><p>“Sorry, what?”</p><p>She laughed, and the sound wrapped around his heart and tugged it close. “It’s okay. Your crazy neighbor woke you up at 2:00am to help her make a yule log. The confusion is warranted.”</p><p>He tapped his hands on his thighs over his sweatpants and couldn’t stop the smile from blooming. “A yule log?”</p><p>“A <em>bûche de Noël</em>, actually.”</p><p>“Ah, yes. Did you know that the yule log cake stretches all the way back to Europe’s Iron Age?” At her curious smile, he gestured with his hands and continued, “The Celtic Brits, Gaelic Europeans, and Scandinavian Norse all gathered to celebrate the winter solstice at the end of December. They held feasts and burned large logs to welcome spring, with the logs sometimes taking twelve days to burn. While we don’t actually know when the first yule log cake was baked, based on the ingredients, it could have been as early as the 1600s.”</p><p>She shook her head. “I know I’ve said this before, but it’s just— it’s actually amazing how much you know.”</p><p>He could feel the heat rising in his cheeks, so he moved to the sink to wash his hands and hide his face. “Lucky for you, I’ve actually baked a <em>bûche de Noël</em> before.”</p><p>“Of course you have,” she laughed. “My luck just doesn’t quit, it seems. Not since I met you.”</p><p>He wiped his hands on the dish towel and turned to face her. “Maybe it’s a Christmas miracle.”</p><p>She hummed. “I’m agnostic, so I’ve always been more partial to a little Christmas magic.” She ran an absentminded hand through her hair, only serving to drag more flour through it. His lips twitched as she gestured to the mess in front of them. “And I think you’re going to need an actual wand to fix this.”</p><p>“Well, I guess your luck really doesn’t quit, because I’ve also been known to do a little magic on the side.”</p><p>Her flour covered smile tugged on the rope that her laugh had tied a few minutes earlier, squeezing his heart in the most peculiar way— and he couldn’t help but feel that something wonderful was about to happen.</p><p>“First you’re a genius, then a modern day Holmes, and now a regular Houdini who’s <em>also</em> skilled in the art of French desserts? Remind me again why you’re spending Christmas helping your annoying neighbor?”</p><p>He pushed up the sleeves on his sweatshirt and busied himself with sorting the necessary ingredients from the mess on her counter. “Probably because I find her to be incredibly charming, generous, interesting, and brilliant.” He shrugged as nonchalantly as possible, pulling a large mixing bowl toward him and flipping open the egg carton.</p><p>“Oh. Well. Ditto.”</p><p>He cleared his throat. “I’m not actually Houdini though. More of a Harry Anderson, really.”</p><p>After a pause, she admitted, “I have no idea who that is.”</p><p>Spencer laughed, bright and loud, and she smiled at him. “It’s not important. Just know that I’m going to need your hands in a bit to help fold in the dry ingredients.”</p><p>“You’re helping me make a fucking yule log at two in the morning, Spencer.” She gave him a pointed look. “You can have whatever you want.”</p><p>He was sure she had no idea what she’d just agreed to.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. We Don't Have to Pretend</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Summary: Literally just the snowed-in-at-the-airport trope with Emily Prentiss and gn!reader. Based on the prompt: “Great! Now my flight is delayed…”</p><p>Pairing: Emily Prentiss x gn!reader</p><p>Category: fluff, blink and you’ll miss it angst</p><p>Warnings/Includes: none!</p><p>Word count: 1,377</p><p>a/n: A Very Moosey Ficmas Day 2! Set after that little deleted scene where Emily finds Mother Night in the airport after she and Derek bonded over Vonnegut. Before the events of Lauren.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Attention passengers for flight 367 to Dulles: due to inclement weather, this flight has been delayed until tomorrow at 10:00am. We apologize for the inconvenience. Vouchers for hotels are available at the service desk.”</p><p>“Great. That’s just perfect.”</p><p>You looked up from your seat at the airport gate just in time to see a woman dragging a frustrated hand through her hair, leaning heavily on a rather gargantuan suitcase.</p><p>You flew often enough to know that the overnight delay was inevitable— the freezing rain had been falling for the last two hours while you’d watched the maintenance crews work frantically to try to keep the ice off the plane. It started as a one hour delay, then a two hour delay, then a three hour delay…</p><p>At the second delay, you had hunkered down under your jacket blanket, stretched out across two seats, and texted your mom to let her know you were going to be stuck in the airport for a while. Needless to say, you weren’t as exasperated as the woman a few feet away. You watched as she dropped to perch on top of her suitcase, pulling out her phone and furiously typing out a message.</p><p>She was objectively gorgeous— all dark hair and milky skin and sharp angles, yet somehow still painfully soft with her hair falling around her face. She was dressed in a red turtleneck, and it clung to the curve of her throat, traced the rise of her breast before tucking neatly into her black trousers. You cleared your throat, suddenly feeling inexplicably parched.</p><p>The woman looked up from where she’d been hunched over her phone, blowing out an annoyed breath. Her eyes drifted across the waiting area, and you quickly dropped your gaze before she could catch you staring.</p><p>You picked up your water bottle to find it nearly empty, and your eyes scanned the terminal, locking on a Starbucks that was still open with a very small line. Packing up your things, you stole another glance at her, noting that her expression had shifted from irritated to something more melancholic. Your heart ached at the thought of anyone feeling unhappy during the holidays, even a beautiful stranger.</p><p>Wheeling your carryon up to the end of the line, you absentmindedly pondered the menu. If you ordered the usual, you’d never sleep, although you probably wouldn’t sleep at all in the uncomfortable gate chairs anyway. You wondered what kind of coffee the pretty stranger liked— something simple, perhaps— an Americano? Or maybe something classic like a vanilla latte.</p><p>“Next!” The barista waved you over.</p><p>You waved awkwardly. “Yeah, hi, Happy Holidays. Sorry, I just need a second.” It had never been this difficult to order a drink before, and you could feel the gaze of the next person in line on your back. “Um, can I just get a grande hot chocolate?” Your eyes drifted back over toward the gate, toward the woman now sitting by herself in one of the oversized chairs. “Actually— make that two.”</p><p>“So that’s two grande hot chocolates. Anything else?”</p><p>“Um.” You scanned the bakery case. “I guess maybe one of those cookies.”</p><p>You paid for the hot chocolates and waited, foot tapping anxiously as the machines whirred and beeped. There was no way you were going to have the guts to actually hand her the hot chocolate. You were just going to drink them both yourself.</p><p>The barista called your name, and you grabbed the drinks from the counter, turning to head back to the gate. You walked with the intention of going straight back to your seat by the window, but then she was sitting sideways in the seat, one leg tucked up underneath her and one arm resting on the back of the chair, nose in a book. And she was so pretty and she looked so sad and you just wanted to maybe hold her hand, but that was <em>insane</em>.</p><p>However, buying her hot chocolate was somewhere in between crazy and thoughtful, and before you could chicken out, you took a glance at the cover of the book and said, “Vonnegut, huh?”</p><p>She looked up from the book, brown eyes focusing on your face, and oh man. So pretty and so sad.</p><p>“Yeah, a— a friend reminded me how much I loved this book when I first read it.” Her voice was smooth and a little lower than you thought it’d be, and it somehow fit her perfectly. “I figured it was worth revisiting.”</p><p>“Oh yeah, Vonnegut is always worth another read,” you agreed quickly.</p><p>She perked up at that. “What’s your favorite work of his?”</p><p>“Oh um— well.” You’d never read a Vonnegut book in your life. “I— I could lie and say that I don’t have a favorite. But I’ll be honest and say that, um—” God she was <em>so</em> pretty, and now you desperately wished you’d read his entire body of work. “I’ve never actually read anything by him.”</p><p>She stared at you for a full three seconds, eyes investigating your face, and then she laughed, bright and loud and melodic. You stood frozen in time, not sure whether to laugh along or cry at how absolutely mortifying this was. At least you’d only have to be in the same room for another few hours. She closed her book and shifted to face you. “At least you’re honest.”</p><p>“Lies are too hard to keep up with,” you said truthfully.</p><p>A specter of sorrow passed through her skin, and you wished you could swallow the words back down your throat. “They are, aren’t they?”</p><p>You didn’t want her to feel sad about the nature of lies; you wanted to hear her laugh again. “I, um—I got two hot chocolates,” you said dumbly.</p><p>She smiled kindly at you. “You’re a grown adult. I suppose you can buy as many hot chocolates as you want.”</p><p>“Oh, well, I meant— I got two,” you repeated. “One for me, one for you.”</p><p>Her eyebrows shot up into her hairline. “You got me a hot chocolate?”</p><p>“I know that’s so weird, I just— you looked like you could use a little warmth and joy.” You shrugged, but you actually wanted to launch yourself into the sun. “So. Hot chocolate.”</p><p>She tilted her head, considering. “That is a little weird.” You nodded and prepared to walk back to your seat to start building the catapult. “It just so happens that I’m also a little weird. And I love hot chocolate.”</p><p>You clenched your teeth to keep your mouth from falling open stupidly as she cleared her things from the seat next to her. She gestured to the seat and you set yourself down as calmly as you could, trying to keep your exhilaration contained.</p><p>You held out the hot chocolate and she accepted it with a smile, fingers brushing yours and sending a jolt up your arm. “I’m Emily, by the way.”</p><p>“Y/N,” you offered.</p><p>“Well, Happy Holidays, Y/N.” She held out her cup to you.</p><p>You tapped the side of your cup to hers. “Happy Holidays, Emily.” Her name already felt perfect on your tongue.</p><p>The two of you sipped at your hot chocolate in comfortable silence for a few minutes, before she lowered her cup and ran her hand over the book in her lap.</p><p>“There’s a quote in this book that I’ve really been sitting with lately,” Emily said, holding up <em>Mother Night</em>. “‘We are what we pretend to be, so we must be careful about what we pretend to be.’” She looked at you then, and you were sure her eyes could see right through you. “I’m just… tired of pretending, you know?”</p><p>“Yeah,” you agreed. “I really do.”</p><p>After another minute of silent sipping, she turned her body to face you, pulling one leg up underneath her. “So, you’ve never read any Vonnegut. How would you like to listen?”</p><p>Beautiful, sad, little-bit-weird Emily wanted to read Kurt Vonnegut to you, a perfect stranger, in an airport in the middle of the night. “I would love that.”</p><p>She grinned at you and opened the book. As she began to read, nimble fingers tracing along each page, something told you that you wouldn’t have to pretend with Emily.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Deck the Halls</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Summary: Based on the prompt: You’re in the hospital for the holidays so I came in while you were sleeping to decorate your room.</p><p>Pairing: Spencer Reid x gn!reader</p><p>Category: fluff, a lil tiny smidge of angst</p><p>Warnings/Includes: very brief mention of a case/injury</p><p>Word count: 876</p><p>a/n: A Very Moosey Ficmas Day 3! She’s a shorty today.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Spencer’s eyes had just barely fluttered open before he forced them shut again, squinting against the harsh fluorescent lighting. He swallowed and winced, his throat excruciatingly dry. He took a deep breath in, the unmistakable antiseptic smell of the hospital filling his nose.</p><p>His mind was fuzzy, but he remembered bits and pieces; a fairly open and shut case, approaching the rural location, the creaking of the barn door, the feeling of floating through the air, the silence, and then… nothing. He was strangely grateful for the pain panging throughout his body, a welcome indication that he was still alive.</p><p>There was a low ringing in his ears and the rhythmic beep of the monitor. Then he heard it— <a href="https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fyoutu.be%2FhwacxSnc4tI&amp;t=N2MyMmE0ZDEzOTdiZTA0YTFjMTBkZjVlZGRhNzNiZGQ5NGRjMjRkNixiYTg3OTZhNWUwNmEyMDYwOWViOThkZGMwMTBjNWM0YjEzMGNkNTU5&amp;ts=1608075226">the soft instrumental</a>, followed by the warm tenor of Nat King Cole, and finally, the familiar humming. He’d know that sweet tone anywhere.</p><p>He moved his hand across the scratchy hospital sheet, fingers searching for yours but coming up empty. He squinted to see you standing on your tiptoes, taping a giant bow onto the bathroom door— which was wrapped in glittery Christmas paper. He tried to clear his throat, but it just came out as a strange, dry rasp.</p><p>Your head whipped around at the sound. “Oh my god, Spence?” You stumbled a bit over a pile of tinsel on the floor in your haste to reach his side. You grabbed his hand, clutching a little desperately and relieved tears welling up in your eyes. “Hi. How do you feel?”</p><p>Spencer gave your fingers a squeeze and then weakly waved his other hand in the vague direction of the ceiling. He croaked out, “Too bright.”</p><p>You immediately straightened up. “God, yeah, these lights are awful. Hang on.” You patted his hand and jogged to the door of the room, hitting the light switch to give Spencer some relief.</p><p>He opened his eyes fully, and it was then that he realized that everything in the room was bathed in a multi-colored glow. A strand of Christmas lights was looped around the rails of his bed; another was tacked up along the window; one more adorned the wall of medical charts.</p><p>Two stockings hung from the windowsill, which was lined with little holiday figurines— Frosty, Rudolph, Hermey, Santa and Mrs. Claus. The window itself had paper snowflakes taped to it— he could see that Henry and Michael had a hand in their creation.</p><p>On the table next to his bed was a very tiny Christmas tree, decorated with miniature ornaments and LED lights. Underneath the tree were half a dozen red jello cups. His lips twitched into a small smile as your hand slipped back into his.</p><p>He brought his tired eyes back to yours as you rubbed your thumb over his hand. You held out a cup of water and he took it gratefully, downing the entire thing in three gulps.</p><p>“Other than the light sensitivity, how are you feeling?” You perched on the edge of the chair next to his bed, leaning on your elbows and looking at him with concern etched across your face.</p><p>“Foggy,” he answered. “How long was I out?”</p><p>“Three days. The doctors said it was a normal response to the head trauma, but it— I—” Your voice cracked, and it was Spencer’s turn to run his thumb soothingly along your palm. “You just— really had us scared for a while there.”</p><p>He brought your joined hands up to his mouth, pressing a kiss to the back of your warm, shaking hand. “I’m sorry for scaring you.”</p><p>You just shook your head and brought your free hand up to stroke over his hair. “I love you.”</p><p>“I love you, too. Thanks for being here when I woke up. For— for waiting.”</p><p>“I’d wait forever for you,” you said honestly.</p><p>He paused for a long moment, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. “Well. I’ll try not to make you wait that long.”</p><p>You swiped gently at the tears that managed to spill over his lashes. He sniffed and then gestured at the decorations. “When did you manage to do all this?”</p><p>“Yesterday. The team was in and out all day, so I had a lot of help.” You couldn’t keep your hands from running over any part of him you could reach, so unbelievably happy to feel his heart beat, his breathing, his <em>life</em> pulsing through your fingertips. “Couldn’t have you spending Christmas in a boring white room.”</p><p>“Nothing is ever boring as long you’re involved,” he assured you. “But this was pretty amazing to wake up to. The jello especially.”</p><p>You laughed a wet and buoyant laugh, and Spencer’s heart soared. All things considered, he was still spending Christmas with his absolute favorite person. The aches and pains and lackluster venue did nothing to dim the incandescent joy of being with you.</p><p>He smiled as the <a href="https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fyoutu.be%2FxXROZNh_H60&amp;t=OGZjZTY4MzViODFkZWM2MmY3ODRiYTZhMzhjZDljZDQxOGU2M2M1OCwyOTk5YTY2NGQ2MmM4NTI0NGI4YWFmZTM4MDI4NWJkYTk4MDkwZWEw&amp;ts=1608075226">soft sounds</a> of a piano came drifting through the speaker of your phone, perched on the table next to the mini tree.</p><p>
  <em>Have yourself a merry little Christmas </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Let your heart be light</em>
</p><p>
  <em>From now on</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Our troubles will be out of sight</em>
</p><p>You leaned forward to press a gentle kiss to his lips, and he sighed into your mouth. “Merry Christmas, my jolly jello boy.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. To Rip or Not to Rip?</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Summary: Tara and reader exchange their Christmas Eve cheat gifts. Based on the prompt: You just rip the paper right off?! You heathen. / You save the paper? Nerd.</p><p>Pairing: Tara Lewis x gn!reader</p><p>Category: fluff</p><p>Warnings/Includes: some innuendo, but other than that none!</p><p>Word count: 1,030</p><p>a/n: A Very Moosey Ficmas Day 4! I have wanted to write for Tara for such a long time. A true queen.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Tara sipped lazily at her snifter of scotch, watching as you leaned forward in front of the tree, elbows on the ground and ass jutting out, searching for the perfect Christmas Eve cheat gift.</p><p>“Is this view my gift?” she asked, and you let out a chuckle. “Because I’m very into it.”</p><p>“Oh don’t you worry, I’m going to be <em>all</em> wrapped up in a nice little bow for you later,” you promised. “But no, I’m looking for something specific. I just can’t find— hang on— here it is.”</p><p>You slipped out from under the tree, rocking back onto your heels before turning around and crawling to press a kiss to Tara’s knee. You set the gift in her lap, and then sat back and crossed your legs, pulling the wrapped box she’d set out for you into your own lap. “Me first.”</p><p>Tara laughed. “Of course, darling.”</p><p>She had wrapped the box meticulously; the corners were perfectly folded, there were no noticeable creases, and the tape was barely visible. You almost felt bad tearing into it. Almost.</p><p>Your nails dug into the paper, the loud ripping sound bouncing around the cozy living room. Tara stared in faux shock. “So you’re really just gonna rip the paper right off, huh? Heathen.”</p><p>“What are you, one of those Christmas paper savers?” You paused and rolled your eyes at Tara’s pursed lips. “Oh my god, you totally are, you absolute dork.”</p><p>Tara shifted the liquid in her glass. “You love it.”</p><p>You resumed your ripping. “That I do, doctor.” Finally rid of the pesky paper, you fumbled with the box for a few seconds before realizing that Tara had taped the sides of that, too. “Oh for fuck’s sake, T.”</p><p>Tara set her glass on the coffee table. “Do you need some help?” she teased.</p><p>You popped one of the pieces of tape and huffed out a breath. “What I <em>need</em> is for my girlfriend to stop wrapping presents like they’re Fort Knox.”</p><p>Tara leaned forward with her elbows on her knees, studying your face carefully as you lifted the tissue paper from around the gift cradled inside the box. Your eyes went wide, your hands carefully pulling a set of <a href="https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fimages.squarespace-cdn.com%2Fcontent%2Fv1%2F5ac396efb98a78a261a9a0c4%2F1563218226494-ADLPK2SF1AZJZSRJTRKC%2Fke17ZwdGBToddI8pDm48kEclP4LYjaJzzPLl2fSoC4h7gQa3H78H3Y0txjaiv_0fDoOvxcdMmMKkDsyUqMSsMWxHk725yiiHCCLfrh8O1z5QHyNOqBUUEtDDsRWrJLTmHy9fWX2TbgcwCD5LYAWJ6QYuRmt-lH2fqSi8ztli2ofVuswjM1eq-Fz-Fuxs7Sb0%2FIMG_2182.JPG%3Fformat%3D1000w&amp;t=YjViMDJlOTIyMjk1YTA5Zjg2M2I0OWJlOWQzOGNkYjNmODgwNmRhNCxlZjk4MzBmYzI2NWUzMjc1NThlOGZhYTEyM2QzYTgzMWJhOWQ1ZDE0&amp;ts=1607761638">small</a> <a href="https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fsecureservercdn.net%2F166.62.108.22%2F9hp.9bb.myftpupload.com%2Fwp-content%2Fuploads%2F2020%2F07%2Fil_1588xN.2032579909_sm6f-768x1024.jpg&amp;t=MWY4ZjNiZjA1YWU4YjllOTFmOGMwMTg4YzFhOTM3YTE0NWZkODE2MixkOTZhYTIyNzY3NDc5ODdhOGU0MmUwMDYzZTlmMmE0NjQ1ZDBiYTY5&amp;ts=1607761638">bowls</a> out of the box. The bowls were made of clear resin, which was layered with arrangements of familiar flowers. “Are these…?”</p><p>“I saved one from each of the bouquets,” Tara confirmed. For the last year, Tara had taken to bringing you a bouquet on Sunday mornings. Nothing overly fancy— sometimes roses, sometimes lilies, sometimes just a single daisy. “Penelope helped with the resin.”</p><p>Tears pricked the corners of your eyes as you ran your fingers over the bowls. You’d never been one for flowers until Tara. But then, it was never really about the flowers. It was the messages she left with each bouquet.</p><p>
  <em>Amaryllis— because you’re the most beautiful person I know, inside and out.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Hyacinth— because you keep me on my toes.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Hydrangea— because I’m so grateful to have you.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Sunflower— because I absolutely adore you.</em>
</p><p>You set the bowls on the coffee table and rose up on your knees, bringing your hands up to cradle Tara’s face. “I am so, so, <em>so</em> in love with you.” You leaned forward to press your mouths together, sighing into the softness of her lips and the warmth of her love. She cupped a hand under your chin to change the angle, deepening the kiss and pulling you just that little bit closer.</p><p>You pulled back from her mouth and dropped a kiss on her nose. She smiled softly at you as you settled back onto the floor in front of her. “Okay, your turn.”</p><p>“This better not be a pair of <a href="https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fsc02.alicdn.com%2Fkf%2FUTB8Lx9GF5aMiuJk43PTq6ySmXXaX.jpg_350x350.jpg&amp;t=YTE0NjQ2ZTU3MDc5OWY3NGY1MTBjYTMyNmZkOWZhMDg4OTQ2Y2MxOCwwMTAzMTFmM2IwZWU0MmQxZmEwMWRkYmVhY2Y1NjIyNzcwMWE4MWJm&amp;ts=1607761638">those shorts</a> with the ruching on the ass crack,” Tara warned, delicately sliding her finger underneath the edge of the paper.</p><p>“<em>This</em> one isn’t,” you assured her. You huffed out a laugh. “Oh my god, just rip it. My wrapping is horrific anyway.”</p><p>She gave you a look. “I like to take my time. Enjoy it.” You could feel your cheeks heating up as you watched her deft fingers carefully dismantling the wrapping. She smiled a little at your quiet hum, setting the paper neatly aside and running her fingers over the front of the book in her lap.</p><p>It was a leather bound book, about an inch thick, the word <em>Recipes</em> hand lettered in gold ink across the front. Tara opened the cover and looked over the table of contents, realization slowly dawning on her face.</p><p>“Your dad helped me out. It took a couple of FaceTime dates to help him figure out how to make the photocopies,” you laughed, a little nervous. The shock on her face was transparent, and you hoped you hadn’t overstepped on your first Christmas together.</p><p>There were dozens of recipes listed: <em>Grandma T’s sweet potato pie</em>; <em>Thelma’s black eyed peas</em>; <em>Albert’s rib and roast sauce</em>… Tara turned to the page for <em>Robin’s macaroni and cheese</em>, and her eyes drifted across the page. She traced along the curves of her mother’s handwriting. She looked at you then, eyes wet but mouth turned up in the sweetest smile. “C’mere.”</p><p>You shifted back up onto your knees, and Tara pulled you into a tight hug. She tucked her head over your shoulder and sighed into your hair. You rubbed your hands across her back and pressed a kiss to the side of her neck.</p><p>“I love you,” Tara mumbled into your shoulder. “So much.”</p><p>“I love you, too.” You squeezed her extra tight. “Merry Christmas, Tara.”</p><p>“Merry Christmas, Y/N.” She released you from the hug and quickly swiped underneath her eyes. She cleared her throat. “So, are the shorts for you or for me?”</p><p>You threw your head back in a loud laugh before crawling back over to the tree, only exaggerating the swing of your hips a <em>little</em>bit. “Well, you’ve got the better ass, but…” You looked over your shoulder as you retrieved the sloppily wrapped gift.</p><p>Tara leaned back and tilted her head, eyes on the other ass in question. “I strongly disagree.”</p><p>You gave her one more wiggle for good measure, and then tossed her the package. “I guess we can open <em>one</em> more tonight.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Enjoy It While It Lasts</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Summary: Just a lil Galvez/Garvez(?) at the BAU holiday party. Based very loosely on the prompt: We just met at a mutual friend’s holiday party but since we accidentally wore matching sweaters, everyone thinks we’re dating.</p><p>Pairing: Penelope Garcia x Luke Alvez</p><p>Category: fluff</p><p>Warnings/Includes: none</p><p>Word count: 1,130</p><p>a/n: A Very Moosey Ficmas Day 5! I’m really gonna have to write more Galvez, huh?</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“I’m just saying, he’s really not that bad.” Emily closed the car door and came around to meet Penelope at the passenger side. “You’d probably like him if you stopped sulking for two minutes.”</p><p>Penelope scoffed. “Not a chance.” She balanced the pan of vegan lasagna in one hand and adjusted the hem of her sweater with the other. “And I’m not <em>sulking</em>. I miss Derek.”</p><p>Emily threw an arm around her shoulder. “I know you do, <em>baby girl</em>.” Penelope shoved at her shoulder and Emily grinned. “We all do. But Luke’s really trying. And I’ll bet you have more in common with him than you think.”</p><p>Penelope full on cackled at that. “Me and that hulking army brat? Now <em>that’s</em> a good joke.” Emily rolled her eyes but didn’t push the issue.</p><p>Penelope didn’t bother with the doorbell, opening the door and calling out, “Merry Christmas, ya filthy animals!” The sound of the team’s laughter floated into the foyer, the smell of Dave’s cooking and a roaring fireplace following close behind.</p><p>“There they are! <em>Mia bellas</em>.” Dave greeted them both with a double cheek kiss, pulling back to admire their offerings. Emily held up her wine, and Penelope gestured toward the kitchen with the pan of lasagna.</p><p>Her heels clicked across the hardwoods as she made her way to the kitchen. Krystall’s voice drifted out through the hallway, quiet and kind. “I’m sure it’s not that bad, honey.”</p><p>“I don’t think you understand, Mrs. Rossi.” Penelope bristled at his voice. “My mom taught me a lot of things but cooking was <em>not</em>one of them. We can just throw it away, it’s fine.”</p><p>“Please, ‘Mrs. Rossi’ makes me feel a hundred years old. Just Krystall is fine.” Penelope peered around the corner of the kitchen to see Krystall peeling back the foil on a casserole dish. “Oh. Well. Maybe if we just… trim this part off?”</p><p>Luke laughed, and Penelope’s heart sped up in the most obnoxious way. “I think it’s beyond trimming.”</p><p>Penelope resisted the urge to grind her teeth. She’d just pop in, drop off the pan, and scoot back out into the living room with the rest of the team. As soon as they heard the sound of her pumps on the tile, Luke and Krystall turned with warm smiles. Penelope returned Krystall’s excitement and blatantly ignored Luke.</p><p>“Penelope!” As she set the pan on the island, Krystall wrapped her in a tight hug. Penelope squeezed back. “Merry Christmas, my dear.”</p><p>“Merry Christmas to my favorite Lady Rossi.”</p><p>Krystall pulled back out of the hug with a gasp. “Oh! You could help us with Luke’s mac and cheese!”</p><p>“Oh, no, I don’t think—” Penelope started.</p><p>“Nonsense! You’re the best cook I know— behind Dave, of course.” Krystall clapped her hands together. “Now, I think maybe if we just—”</p><p>“My wife, my life,” Rossi sang, strolling into the kitchen. “You’re being summoned. JJ is insisting on a picture of the hosts in front of the tree.” He kissed her cheek and began ushering her out.</p><p>“Wait, but…” Penelope trailed off. She huffed out a breath, already annoyed at Luke’s smug chuckling. “Don’t even look at me like that, newbie.”</p><p>He smirked and held his hands up. “I’m not looking at you like anything. Nice sweater.”</p><p>She looked at him— <em>really</em> looked for the first time since entering the kitchen— to see that his sweater was… <a href="https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.shutupandtakemyyen.com%2Fwp-content%2Fuploads%2F2016%2F11%2FLegend-Of-Zelda-Christmas-Sweater.jpg&amp;t=YWJlNjg5NDYyMTliNmJjNDc4YjI1YjU4N2EwNjA4NzdlMjE3N2ZhZCxiNzc5YWFiNDY4MjE3MmQ3ZDhlNTEzNjRiYTU3MDEwMWU5ZDkzNzNi&amp;ts=1608306504">the exact same one</a>she had on. “Unbelievable,” she groaned. Of course he liked Zelda. And novelty Christmas sweaters. And of course the sweater stretched just right over his toned chest… and arms… and abs… and <em>shoulders</em>. How incredibly annoying.</p><p>He just raised his eyebrows at her sneer. “You don’t have a corner on the geek market, Penelope.”</p><p>She hated the way her name sounded in his mouth— like it belonged there, like it had always been there, like the etymology started and ended there. “Have you ever even played Zelda?” she questioned.</p><p>“Are you kidding?” he laughed. “That was like, my whole childhood.” He gave her a once over, and she wondered if she imagined his gaze lingering. “Looks better on you.”</p><p>She swallowed and pursed her lips. “Flattery will get you nowhere.” He grinned cheekily, and she huffed out an irritated breath, teetering over to the counter. “What’s wrong with your mac and cheese?”</p><p>He ran a hand down the back of his neck and gave her a sheepish shrug. “I really don’t know that it’s salvageable. It’s okay if you don’t think you can fix it.”</p><p>She couldn’t well turn down a challenge. “Oh, so now you doubt my abilities?”</p><p>Luke shook his head with a soft smile. “Never.”</p><p>She pulled back the aluminum foil to see a very, very burnt top layer of cheese and bread crumbles. She couldn’t stop the laugh from bubbling up. “Oh man, Alvez. This is… really bad.”</p><p>“I told you!” He leaned over the dish, brushing his exceedingly muscled shoulder against hers in the process, and she felt her body temperature rise a solid three degrees. “We can just throw it out.”</p><p>“No, no. We’ll just— hm.” She opened the silverware drawer and retrieved a fork. “Maybe we can…” She used the fork to dig up the top layer— it was so thoroughly melted together that it peeled up almost like a sheet of paper. She tilted her head to the side in surprise. “Wow, okay. That actually kind of worked.”</p><p>She pulled the chunks of burnt cheese and crumb mixture off one by one, dumping them into the trash as she went. When she’d cleared as much of the charred bits as she could, she surveyed her work with a smug smirk. She put her hands out with a little <em>ta-da</em>as she turned to gloat. But then Luke was smiling at her in a way that could only be described as downright dopey, and the snarky quip died in her throat. “What?”</p><p>He shook his head. “Nothing. Should we… put more cheese on it?”</p><p>She shook herself out of her stupor to jab, “You’re so full of cheese already, what’s a little more?”</p><p>Luke huffed out a laugh as she turned to retrieve whatever cheese she could find in the Rossi fridge. “That’s the best you got?”</p><p>“Watch it,” she scolded. “I’m only going easy on you because it’s the holidays, and I’m full of cheer, and goodwill, and tidings of comfort and joy.” She returned with a bag of shredded cheddar cheese. “So. Enjoy it while it lasts.”</p><p>She opened the bag and began sprinkling the cheese over the lackluster macaroni, so she missed the way his eyes traced over the fan of her lashes, the apple of her cheek, the curve of her mouth. “Oh, I intend to.”</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. All Cheered Out</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Summary: Based on the prompt: Why can’t you turn your Christmas lights off at a reasonable hour? They’re way too bright and some of us are trying to sleep. If you won’t turn them off, I’ll turn them off myself.</p><p>Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader</p><p>Category: fluff</p><p>Warnings/Includes: brief mention of sensory issues</p><p>Word count: 1,266</p><p>a/n: A Very Moosey Ficmas Day 6! I made it music because it worked better logistically and we know that mf is scared of the dark and he’d lowkey love the glow of Christmas lights.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Spencer rolled over in bed, glaring at the ceiling and huffing out, “Oh for fuck’s sake.” He practically catapulted himself out of the bed, stalking across his bedroom and into the main living area. He shoved his feet into the first pair of shoes he could find, unlocked the dead bolt and ripped the door open.</p><p>He turned left out of his apartment and practically ran to the stairwell, taking the stairs two at a time. He stormed down the hallway, following the obnoxious tones of one of the songs that had been vibrating through his ceiling for the past <em>three days</em>.</p><p>His knock verged on violent. He couldn’t even hear the occupant crossing to answer, because the fucking music was so fucking <em>loud</em>.</p><p>The door swung open, and she stood in the doorway, and for ten seconds he forgot why he was angry. Her fleece onesie was covered in dinosaurs wearing Santa hats, and she was smiling at him like she’d been run over by a truck full of Christmas cheer.</p><p>“Hi!” She waved at him happily, and he almost waved back. “Spencer, right?” The fact that she knew his name was another shock to the system knocking him off course. And then Mariah Carey belted out:</p><p>
  <em>I just want you for my own </em>
</p><p>
  <em>More than you could ever know </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Make my wish come true </em>
</p><p>
  <em>All I want for Christmas is you</em>
</p><p>And then his brain short-circuited, any semblance of courtesy swallowed up by the screeching crescendo of the song. “Your music is too fucking loud for 11:00 at night. It’s been three days of <em>all I want for Christmas</em>, and frankly, we get it. We know what Mariah wants, and I hope she gets it, but I also need her to shut the fuck up. I’m trying to sleep.”</p><p>The joy drained from her face, and Spencer felt like the absolute scum of the earth. But wait, <em>no</em>, he didn’t. Her music was too damn loud. Maybe he could have been nicer about it, but he was <em>sleep deprived </em>and sensory overloaded.</p><p>“Oh—oh my god, I’m so sorry. I’ll— I’ll turn it off right now.” She scrambled to pull out her phone, pressing on the screen and cutting the music off. His overstimulated brain was instantly relieved. She continued, “I’m so sorry to have bothered you. It won’t happen again.”</p><p>All he could manage was a curt nod. He turned and headed for the stairs, trying to push the image of her crushed face out of his mind.</p><p>…</p><p>Spencer couldn’t sleep. He’d fallen asleep almost immediately the previous night, the exhaustion from hours of overstimulation and the final release of his frustration knocking him out cold. But now he was laying in his bed, and he should be basking in the silence, but he couldn’t stop thinking about the woman in unit 33.</p><p>She had been so sweet, so apologetic, so horrified by the thought that she had caused him distress. She’d known his name, and greeted him with a smile, and he hadn’t heard a peep out of her since.</p><p>It was Sunday, and as such, he should have heard her working out— rhythmic thumps on the floor for intervals of three minutes on, one minute off. He should have heard her showering— the water turned on at 9:30am like clockwork every Sunday. But it was exactly twelve hours later, and he hadn’t heard her… at all. Not a single sound. And he felt terrible.</p><p>Maybe she wasn’t home. Maybe she’d gone to the grocery store, or to a friend’s house, or for a walk. He sighed. Who was he kidding? She was, quite literally, walking on eggshells because her brusque neighbor had lambasted her about her cheerful Christmas music at 11:00pm on a Saturday night.</p><p>He threw the covers off and climbed out of bed, shuffling into the living area. He strained his ear to listen for any sign of life, but much like the past twenty two and a half hours, there was nothing. He slipped into his shoes and unbolted the door, moving quietly into the hallway and up the stairs.  </p><p>He knocked, much less aggressively than the previous night. He could just barely hear her padding across the floor, and he shoved his hands in his pockets while he waited. She hesitated for a full twenty seconds before opening the door.</p><p>She pulled it open and he felt even worse. Gone was the adorable dinosaur Santa onesie, replaced by grey sweatpants and a black hoodie. Her face was contorted in a mixture of embarrassment and worry, and before he could say anything she was apologizing again.</p><p>“I really am <em>so</em> sorry about the music. It was inconsiderate and disrespectful, and I just feel terrible for keeping you up. I can get a little carried away during the holiday season, but that’s really no excuse when you live in an apartment building. I tried to be quieter today, but I’m sorry if I—”</p><p>“Y/N.” Her eyes went wide. He’d checked her name on the mailbox that morning. “It is Y/N, right?” She nodded. “I’m— I’m sorry, too. I have a little bit of a sensory thing,” he gestured to his head, “so sometimes I can get overwhelmed by a lot of stimuli— in this case, the music.” Her face was devastated, and he continued, “But I also could have been more proactive in coming to talk to you about it. And I could have been a little nicer in my request to turn it down.”</p><p>She waved her hands. “Oh my god, no, no. You were totally in the right. I’m just grateful you came and talked to me instead of just calling the cops.”</p><p>“Considering the average Metro PD response time is almost nine minutes, it was faster to just walk up here.” He shrugged.</p><p>The corners of her lips twitched. “Well, regardless. Thank you for coming to tell me it was bothering you.” She grimaced. “I hate the thought that I’ve been driving you crazy.”</p><p>“You haven’t.” She raised her eyebrow. “Okay, well— Mariah drove me a little crazy. But generally speaking, <em>you</em> don’t drive me crazy. You’re normally a below average noise producer.”</p><p>She grinned. “Thanks? I think.”</p><p>He nodded. “Well, um. I just wanted to explain the outburst, so…”</p><p>“Do you like Christmas cookies?” she asked.</p><p>He furrowed his brow. “Sorry?”</p><p>“Christmas cookies,” she repeated. “What are your thoughts on them?”</p><p>“Well, I—I’ve never met a cookie I didn’t like.”</p><p>She laughed, and that was a sound that overwhelmed him, too, but in a very different way. “When I said that I can get a little carried away during the holidays, that includes making entirely too many Christmas cookies. I still have some cut-outs that need decorating, if that’s something you’d be interested in.” She didn’t give him a chance to respond before she hedged, “If not, I can just send you on your way with some finished ones. I’ve got chocolate crinkles, molasses cookies, toasted pecan snowballs, jam thumbprints, pistachio shortbreads, and snickerdoodles.”</p><p>“I’ve never actually decorated a Christmas cookie,” he admitted.</p><p>“What?!” She grimaced at the volume of her own voice. “Sorry, I just— wait, are you Jewish? I’m just out here trying to shove Christmas down your throat, and I didn’t even bother to ask if you celebrate it.”</p><p>He laughed. “I’m a… questioning atheist. But I do celebrate Christmas. And it, um. It might be nice to decorate some cookies.”</p><p>She beamed at him, and he was suddenly very glad that she’d blasted that insufferable song for three days straight.</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. All I Want for Christmas</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Summary: Jack’s Christmas wish is that his dad gets together with reader. Based v loosely on the prompt: We took our kids to santa’s workshop and they both wished we would get together.</p><p>Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x fem!reader</p><p>Category: fluff</p><p>Warnings/Includes: none</p><p>Word count: 1,503</p><p>a/n: A Very Moosey Ficmas Day 7! Um….. not me dreaming of starting a new series in this verse. Also, Jack is a little too old for Santa (14 in this fic), but we worked around it. Also also, I really like writing the BAU men on farms, huh? 🤣</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>When Aaron retired, he and Jack moved to a tiny town in the middle of nowhere North Carolina. Jack, to his credit, was not at all phased by the move. It broke Aaron’s heart. His sweet, brilliant son was so used to loss and the threat of danger that a second stint in witness protection hadn’t even made a blip.</p><p>When they were finally able to leave witsec, Aaron promised himself that he would do everything in his power to give Jack a normal, happy, safe childhood. Penelope had helped him find the perfect little hundred acre farm, and when the seller dropped the price by $20,000– well, that was fate talking. Instead of the urban-suburban life they’d lived when he’d worked for the Bureau, their days were now filled with dirt roads, fields, and cows.</p><p>It took him about a year to get things up and running, but they had chickens, a dozen cows, a successful farm stand, and some additional income from boarding horses. The hand painted sign at the end of the driveway read <em>Hotchner Farms est. 2018. </em></p><p>That’s how they’d met Y/N and Beau.</p><p>They’d pulled up in the beat up red Ford, dust swirling around the cab as Aaron and Jack tossed a football in the front yard. She’d stepped out of the truck, and Aaron had been so busy picking his jaw off the ground that he’d gotten pegged in the <em>actual</em> jaw by Jack’s solid throw. If she’d seen it happen, she hadn’t brought it up. And the rest was history.</p><p>Y/N decided to board her mare, and Jack and Beau became fast friends. Those two facts meant that the four of them spent a lot of time together— horseback riding, movie nights, camping in the yard, summer stargazing…</p><p>This year, Y/N had convinced Aaron to host a winter fest at the farm. She had a lot of connections within the small town community, and she helped him book twenty different small businesses, artists, and vendors. “It’ll be great exposure for the stand,” she’d told him.</p><p>On the day of the event, Y/N and Beau arrived in the morning to help with the set up. Aaron already had the farm stand stocked with jams, pickled veggies, and the baked goods he and Jack had prepared together over the previous week. But he couldn’t help but feel like the displays were simultaneously overwhelming and lackluster.</p><p>“Hey y’all!” Beau called out, sprinting across the side yard to where the booths were set up.</p><p>Jack snatched him up in a hug like they hadn’t seen each other in years. Aaron gave a wave to Y/N, and she grinned at him. “So Farmer Aaron, you ready for the big day?”</p><p>He rested his hands on his hips, looking around at all the vendors setting up. “I can’t believe I let you talk me into this.”</p><p>“Oh come on, it’s gonna be amazing,” she insisted. She ran a soothing hand down his arm, and he felt like his skin was on fire.</p><p>He pursed his lips. “We’ll see.”</p><p>She rolled her eyes. “Have you always second guessed yourself this much?”</p><p>The answer to that question was longer than they had time for today. She sighed. “Aaron. It’s going to be perfect. I should know, I planned it. You’re gonna have to change that sign to <em>Y/L/N Farms</em>.”</p><p>He laughed at that, and she smiled. “Now come on, what do you need? Put me to work, boss.”</p><p>He did put her to work. She re-organized the farm stand, decorating and displaying the items more aesthetically than he ever could have—placing them at varying heights, adding plants and decorations here and there, and creating hand-lettered signs for each section. She helped him set up the hay bales and winter decorations for the photo booth.</p><p>She was creative and efficient, helpful but not overbearing. She chatted with all the different vendors and helped set out the road signs. More than anything, her presence simply helped to comfort and calm him. She hadn’t always had that effect on him; she used to make him nervous, in a way he hadn’t felt since The Pirates of Penzance.</p><p>She was right, as she always was. The festival was incredible. He was pretty sure that every one of the town’s 1,374 residents came by at some point. They had to restock the farm stand twice and sold every single item. The two of them barely left the counter.</p><p>“Oh my god.” She sank onto the metal barstool perched behind the counter. “My feet might actually fall off.”</p><p>Aaron leaned against the counter. “I’m inclined to agree with you.”</p><p>“But it turned out amazing,” she sighed happily. “I told you.”</p><p>He couldn’t help but grin at her. “If you’d told me two years ago that I’d be running a successful winter fest on a farm in the middle of nowhere, I’d have laughed in your face.”</p><p>She joined him in stretching over the counter, dropping her chin into her hand. Her eyes were on him, warm and steady. “Well, I’m glad the universe had different plans for you.”</p><p>Before he could respond, Jack and Beau descended upon the stand, faces painted and out of breath. “Come on!” Beau whined. “You guys have been here <em>all day</em>.”</p><p>Y/N laughed. “Since when have you two ever wanted to hang out with us?”</p><p>The boys looked at each other. “We gotta talk to Santa,” Jack implored.</p><p>Y/N raised an eyebrow at that. Her son hadn’t believed in Santa for quite some time, and she knew Jack didn’t either. She looked at Aaron quizzically, and he shrugged, unsure of what the boys had planned.</p><p>The four of them walked together through the aisles of booths, the sounds of Christmas carols drifting through the air. The vendors were winding down, many of their shelves barren as well. The stands for hot chocolate and roasted nuts were still going strong, as was the photo booth, and of course, Santa was still there.</p><p>As they approached, the boys ran to Santa, and Aaron and Y/N hung back.</p><p>“Thank you. For convincing me that this would work.” Aaron stuffed his hands into his pockets. “And for working the stand all day. I couldn’t have done it without you.”</p><p>She knocked their shoulders together. “You know I’d do just about anything for you, right?”</p><p>Y/N smiled at him, and he knew this feeling. He’d felt it twice before, but this time felt different. He was older, wiser, simultaneously tougher and softer than he’d been the first time. He had Jack, and he had scar tissue, and he had a head full of nightmares that he could never unsee.</p><p>But then there she was. All warmth, and sarcasm, and pushing him in ways that no one else ever had. She was nothing like Haley, nothing like Beth, and yet… she was perfect for him. Not a foil to his seriousness, but rather a siphon for his silliness, a megaphone for his joy.</p><p>His hands were on her face before he could talk himself out of it. And then his mouth was on hers, and he couldn’t believe he hadn’t done this sooner. She smiled into the kiss and brought her hands to cover his, holding them steady.</p><p>And then Jack and Beau were hooting and hollering, and Y/N was laughing against his mouth and pulling away to look at the two boys.</p><p>They skidded to a stop in front of their parents. “Finally,” Beau huffed out.</p><p>“I didn’t know Santa answered Christmas wishes that fast,” Jack joked.</p><p>At Aaron’s stunned face, Jack continued, “Dad. You didn’t actually think we didn’t know, did you?”</p><p>Y/N laced her fingers through his and squeezed gently. “Cut him some slack, Jack. Hard to be subtle when the object of your affection is just so <em>incredible</em>.”</p><p>The boys laughed, and Aaron couldn’t stop his own chuckle from tumbling out of his mouth. “And humble, too, apparently.”</p><p>“Oh, <em>very</em> humble,” Y/N agreed. “All right. I think Farmer Aaron’s revelation calls for a celebratory hot cocoa.”</p><p>The boys agreed, practically sprinting to the stand. Aaron pulled Y/N along by their joined hands. “You know, you could have said something, too.”</p><p>She leaned her head on his shoulder. “Yeah. But it was much more fun to watch you attempt to play it cool.”</p><p>“Wow,” he laughed. She smiled and squeezed his hand again.</p><p>“Merry almost Christmas, Aaron.” Y/N pulled him to face her, leaning up on her tiptoes and pressing another kiss to his mouth. “Now, I’m gonna let you buy me a hot cocoa.”</p><p>“You’re going to let me, huh?” he smiled.</p><p>“Mmhmm. I’m going to let you do a lot of things.”</p>
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<a name="section0008"><h2>8. A Holiday Cliché</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Request: hi hi! could you do spencer reid x female reader. maybe the reader only calls everyone by their last names. but with spencer they watch the new doctor who episodes every week together but she spoons him and they’re very close. she goes to garcia’s christmas party for the first time since she’s joined the bau and they’re happy shes finally coming around. after, her and spencer end up confessing their feelings. thank you so much love &lt;3</p><p>Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader</p><p>Category: fluff</p><p>Warnings/Includes: none</p><p>Word count: 1,781</p><p>a/n: A Very Moosey Ficmas Day 8! I hope this is what you were looking for, my lovely anon angel!</p>
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    <p>The buzzer rang and Y/N scurried over to the intercom. She held the button down to talk. “Hey! I’ll be right down!” She pulled on her coat and checked her makeup in the mirror one last time before heading out the door.</p><p>Spencer was waiting outside the front entry, hands stuffed in the pockets of his coat, curls falling haphazardly over the collar. She could see the moment he saw her, the corners of his mouth turning up in a sweet smile. She couldn’t help but return it, even as the nerves were coursing through her.</p><p>The door swung open and his eyes widened almost imperceptibly. “H-hi.”</p><p>She laughed a little nervously. “Hi. Is the makeup too much?”</p><p>“<em>No</em>, no. It’s um. You look beautiful,” he corrected. “I— I like this look.” He swallowed and blinked rapidly a few times. Then he held his arm out to her. “Ready?”</p><p>“Ready,” she lied.</p><p>Of course he caught it— he seemed to know her better than she knew herself. “You know they all love you already, right? They <em>want</em>you to come. You’re part of this team.”</p><p>She sighed. “I know. I just—” She stopped and huffed out a breath.</p><p>She’d explained it before on one of their evenings off together— the fear that ran deep, fostered by years of being the odd one out. The fear that she was annoying, that she talked too much, that she was destined to always be on the outside looking in. That even after nearly a year with the team, she was still not quite part of the <em>family</em>.</p><p>He’d understood. For most of his life, he’d been on the fringes. She knew from their many conversations that it wasn’t until he joined the BAU that he really felt like he belonged. That he realized he’d been trying to jam himself into all the wrong puzzles for twenty years. That he’d finally found the one where he fit perfectly. That was half the reason she was finally getting comfortable with the team: if Spencer loved them, she knew it was safe for her to let them in, too.</p><p>He gave her a meaningful look. “I know.” He held out his arm again. “Come on. The sooner we get there, the sooner you’ll see you have nothing to worry about.”</p><p>The ride in the car was quiet except for the low music humming through the speakers. Spencer let her settle, let her mentally prepare. Funnily enough, she was ready to start opening up to the team. What she wasn’t sure she was ready for was admitting to herself that Spencer was more than just a friend.</p><p>Well, he technically wasn’t more than a friend. But she wanted him to be.</p><p>When she’d joined the team, she and Spencer had become fast friends. He’d been easy to talk to because, well, he did most of the talking. She had always required a warming up period before she felt comfortable leading conversations, and his tendency to ramble was the perfect mechanism for making that happen.</p><p>They had a shared love of sci-fi television. As such, many of their days off were spent at one of their respective apartments, curled up on the couch with the latest episode of Dr. Who or a marathon of Star Trek. Spencer was partial to <em>The Original Series</em> and <em>The Next Generation</em>, but Y/N had gotten him into the new episodes, too… mostly due to their mutual, curious attraction to <a href="https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.startrek.com%2Fsites%2Fdefault%2Ffiles%2Fimages%2F2020-02%2F110497_0173b.jpg&amp;t=YWEzMDA1MjdmNWEzMTI5NDlhOTEyMDIzZGExYjE5YWQ2NDA3MjBmNSw0NDZiNTgyZTkwODEyOTIwNTM5ZDYwYjU5YzI5Y2E3OGUwODZhZGY5&amp;ts=1608539087">Jason Issacs in uniform</a>.</p><p>More than once she’d woken up, well into the evening hours, wrapped up in Spencer and flushed from head to toe. As much as she wanted to, she couldn’t bring herself to cross that line with him— not when she was just starting to feel like she belonged. If he didn’t feel the same, the whole thing would come crashing down. And so always, after a long moment of indulgence, she’d carefully untangle their limbs and pretend like it hadn’t happened at all.</p><p>Spencer parked the car in front of Penelope’s apartment, turning to look at her. His eyes were glittering in the dying daylight, all brown and gold and green and dazzling. He gave her a warm smile and then nodded his head toward the door. “Come on.”</p><p>Penelope actually squealed when she opened the door, immediately crushing Y/N in a hug. “You came!” She pulled out of the hug and pointed at Spencer. “Wonder boy, help her with her jacket. I’ve gotta get the casserole out of the oven.” With that, she rushed back into the kitchen.</p><p>Y/N peered around the space with a grin as she unzipped her coat. It was exactly how she’d imagined Penelope’s space would be. She was too busy admiring the bright colors and knick knacks to notice the way Spencer’s jaw dropped as he helped her shrug out of her jacket. He snapped it closed as she turned to him with the grin still firmly plastered on her face. “This is… very Penelope.”</p><p>He laughed, a little breathily. “Yes. Yes, it is.” He cleared his throat and vaguely gestured at her. “This is very… you.”</p><p>Y/N looked down at herself, at the red velvet clinging to her every curve. The dress was one of her favorites; a powerful ensemble for when she needed a confidence boost. She tried not to read into the way he was looking at her. Instead, she smoothed her hand down the skirt and murmured, “Thanks, Spence.”</p><p>“There they are!” Dave approached from the living room, greeting Spencer with a pat on the shoulder. He held out his hands to Y/N, and she took them with a shy smile, allowing herself to be led into the apartment to join the festivities.</p><p>As the night wore on, Y/N couldn’t help but feel like one of the gang. They each captivated her with stories from over the years— each one funnier than the last. She did a lot of listening, but she provided some input here and there, much to the delight of the team. As the night began winding down, she found herself being folded into hugs from each of them. She was slightly embarrassed that she’d taken so long to come around.</p><p>When she, Derek, and Spencer were the only three left, she found herself asking, “Garc— Penelope, what can I do to help you clean up?”</p><p>“Oh!” Penelope absolutely beamed at her. “My sweet angel, Y/N. Could you finish putting away the leftovers? I have the tupperware all set out.”</p><p>Y/N smiled. “Sure thing.”</p><p>“Spencer can help you. And feel free to pack some to-go boxes for yourselves!” She turned back to the living room to help Derek with folding up the blankets and putting the couches back in order.</p><p>Spencer entered the kitchen, rolling up the sleeves of his deep green button up. When he reached the counter, he bumped their shoulders together. “So… how do you feel?”</p><p>She let out a long sigh. “Relieved. Grateful. Happy.” She bumped his shoulder back. “Thanks for convincing me to come.”</p><p>“No problem at all.” He cleared his throat. “I, um—I just wanted to… clarify what I said earlier.”</p><p>She racked her brain, trying to recall everything he’d said to her, searching for anything that felt out of place. “You’ll have to be more specific, Spence.”</p><p>He finished transferring the last of Penelope’s mac and cheese into one of the containers, pressing the lid closed. “When I said that you looked beautiful.”</p><p>“Oh.”</p><p>“I— you do look beautiful. But I—” At her furrowed brow, he continued, “Not but. No buts. You look beautiful, and you always look beautiful. I didn’t want you to think that I only said so because you’re wearing makeup tonight.”</p><p>She let out a little laugh. “No, I know what you meant.”</p><p>“Good. And I… also wanted to clarify that I don’t just think you’re beautiful.” He’d abandoned the leftovers entirely now. “I think that you’re brilliant, and brave, and kind, and just… generally one of the loveliest people I’ve ever met.”</p><p>“Oh,” she said again. “Well, I— I could say the same for you.”</p><p>He turned to face her. “I don’t want to overwhelm you. I know tonight was a lot for you. But I just— I need you to know how I feel.”</p><p>Her heart rate started to pick up as he met her eyes. “I’ve felt this way for a while, and I’m not usually very good with saying how I feel, but I figure— it’s Christmas, and what better time than the holidays to make grand confessions because—”</p><p>“Spence,” she interrupted. She desperately needed him to get to the point.</p><p>“Right.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small box. “I know we said no gifts, but… I needed a little help figuring out how to say this.”</p><p>She accepted the box, carefully untying the ribbon and placing it on the counter. She lifted the lid on the box to find a dainty gold necklace. The thin chain held <a href="https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.etsy.com%2Flisting%2F262071734%2Fgold-puzzle-necklace-puzzle-charm%3Fgpla%3D1%26gao%3D1%26%26utm_source%3Dgoogle%26utm_medium%3Dcpc%26utm_campaign%3Dshopping_us_christmas_Jewelry%26utm_custom1%3D_k_Cj0KCQiAifz-BRDjARIsAEElyGIeXzDdZWLMV3ZMuECPBSCMxCxrdzDkSgHjJi_an1QwlEmZC1g1chkaAjxKEALw_wcB_k_%26utm_content%3Dgo_1707294370_69268674449_331635229800_pla-295491029933_c__262071734_122533161%26utm_custom2%3D1707294370%26gclid%3DCj0KCQiAifz-BRDjARIsAEElyGIeXzDdZWLMV3ZMuECPBSCMxCxrdzDkSgHjJi_an1QwlEmZC1g1chkaAjxKEALw_wcB&amp;t=MDQyM2Q1NzkxMmM3YTk2YTI5NmMyNDdlNTRkOTViZmJkZDEwNTYzYyw0ODRiOWZmMTRkZjk2ZTIxMDlkMmMwOTgwM2RkMjNmOWY0N2MwOGEx&amp;ts=1608539087">two puzzle pieces</a>. She ran her finger lightly over the charms.</p><p>“You’re the last piece. In my puzzle.” She looked at him then, and she saw now that he was as nervous as her. But he held her gaze. “You’ve become such a part of my life that I can’t even remember what it was like before you, and you know that’s never the case for me.” He laughed a little. “I’ve never met anyone who fits me quite as well as you, Y/N. I know that’s so cliché, and I’d be embarrassed, except it’s the truth. And I, um— I love you.”</p><p>She held her breath for a long moment, just barely resisting the urge to pinch herself. She couldn’t quite get her mouth to work, so instead, she threw her arms around his neck. He wrapped his arms around her waist and hooked his chin over her shoulder. She could feel his smile in her hair as he swayed her gently. “I love you, too,” she whispered.</p><p>When she pulled back, he was grinning. He didn’t allow her to get very far before he was pressing his mouth to hers. His lips were soft and warm and tasted faintly of chapstick, and she could feel her body vibrating in literal exultation.</p><p>Apparently Penelope felt similarly, because her shrieking echoed off the tile of the kitchen when she caught sight of them. Spencer and Y/N pulled apart, both looking slightly dazed but incredibly happy. “My mistletoe worked!”</p><p>Neither of them had the heart to tell her that they hadn’t even seen the little green plant hanging above their heads.</p>
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<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Merry Christmas, Baby Girl</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Summary: Just Penelope and Derek being in love in the snow. Based on the prompt: What kind of Christmas would it be if we didn’t play in the snow?</p><p>Pairing: Penelope Garcia x Derek Morgan</p><p>Category: fluff</p><p>Warnings/Includes: none</p><p>Word count: 1,444</p><p>a/n: Ficmas Day 9! Yes, my ficmas has two days of Penelope getting her man because that woman deserves the world and everyone in it and frankly it’s a hate crime that morcia wasn’t canon.</p>
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    <p>“Derek Morgan, this is not negotiable. We’re making a snow person.”</p><p>Derek sighed. “Baby girl, I moved away from Chicago for a reason. I don’t do snow.”</p><p>“Well, <em>I </em>moved away from California for a reason,” she huffed. “And we never get this much snow!”</p><p>She was right; DC never got this much snow— especially not in December. Sure, a few inches here and there in January and February. But this year, a freak blizzard had dropped over a foot of snow overnight. The entire city was shut down. It was the first white Christmas they’d had in years. And Derek had zero interest in going out in it.</p><p>“You go,” he said, gesturing with his hot chocolate. “I’ll watch from the window.”</p><p>“Uh-uh.” When Derek groaned, Penelope rolled her eyes. “Oh, come <em>on</em>. An hour in the snow won’t kill you.”</p><p>“It just might,” he countered. She pulled her best pout, shuffling toward him with full on puppy dog eyes. He shot her a pointed look. “Don’t even.”</p><p>She wrapped her arms around his waist, looking up at him from underneath her lashes. “So… you don’t want to spend Christmas Eve… bundled up with the love of your life… wrapping a hand knitted scarf around a jolly snow person… who was brought into this world with love—”</p><p>“And who’s going to melt in twelve hours?” Penelope huffed out a breath, and he wrapped his arms around her shoulders when she went to pull away. He sighed into her hair. “… you get <em>one</em> hour.”</p><p>Penelope squealed and squeezed him tight, and Derek couldn’t stop the smile from turning up the corners of his mouth. “And <em>only</em> because I love you.”</p><p>She leaned up to press a quick, chaste kiss to his mouth. “I’m quite certain that I love you more. So much that I’ll even help you get bundled up.”</p><p>The two of them got dressed in their layers— two pairs of pants, long sleeved shirts, sweaters, and jackets. They laced up their snow boots and stuffed their hands into waterproof gloves. And then Penelope wound one of her ridiculously soft scarves around his neck, wrapping it once, twice, and then tugging him down by the ends for another kiss. He brought his hands to her hips, tugging her as close as possible through the combined six layers of clothing. His fingers tightened around his favorite part of her and she laughed into his mouth before swatting him with the fringe of the scarf.</p><p>“You will not get out of this with seduction, sir.” She tugged a matching beanie over his head, tapping on the little puff ball on top. “God, how are you so cute?”</p><p>He pulled her hat down a little more snugly over her loose curls. “I got it from my mama.”</p><p>She smiled at that. “I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again: Fran Morgan, thank you for giving me the love of my life.” She turned to retrieve a wicker basket from the entryway side table.</p><p>Derek eyed the basket, overflowing with miscellaneous items. “What’s all that?”</p><p>Her lips quirked up in a small smile, and she grabbed his hand. “You’ll see. Come on, hot stuff.”</p><p>They trudged out into the middle of the yard, and Penelope hemmed and hawed over the perfect location for far too long. When she finally decided, marking it with a little <em>x</em>, Derek leaned down to start scooping up snow. She waved her hands frantically. “No, no, no— you can’t take the snow from there.”</p><p>He furrowed his brows. “Well, excuse me. Then where <em>am</em> I supposed to get the snow from, pretty girl?”</p><p>She let out an exasperated sigh. “If you use all the snow from there, you’ll expose the dead grass, and then she won’t look good for pictures.”</p><p>“She?”</p><p>“Yes, she,” Penelope confirmed. “She’s going to be an icon and a diva, and I will <em>not</em> have her surrounded by ugly, brown grass.”</p><p>They spent the better part of an hour rolling snow across the lawn, each snowball growing in size until Penelope deemed it satisfactory. To her credit, she rolled the middle snowball entirely by herself, and Derek only had to help her a little in the lifting. Then, he worked on smoothing the base of their snow person, while she got the shape of the head just right.</p><p>Derek stood and dusted the snow off his knees, watching as Penelope retrieved the wicker basket from where she’d set it down earlier. She pulled a bright orange scarf out of the top and handed it to him. “Here. Bundle her up,” she ordered.</p><p>“Yes, ma’am.” He smiled and wrapped the chunky knit scarf around the head of their creation. She handed him a carrot, and he dug out a little starter hole before positioning the carrot and packing it in with some fresh snow. She pulled two brown buttons out of the basket, sticking them on as the eyes.</p><p>“Okay, make the smile with these.” She dumped a pile of red buttons into his outstretched hands.</p><p>As he pressed the buttons into a curve, he watched Penelope fasten three beaded necklaces and wedge in two large jewels for earrings. The snow might not be his thing, but Penelope Garcia certainly was. His god given solace, his compass, his ray of sunshine, his queen, his literal angel on earth.</p><p>They’d danced around it for so many years— each of them always with someone else or not ready to commit. The shameless flirting became their thing, something they just <em>did</em> that no one questioned. It became so routine that he missed the moment that their <em>philia</em> became <em>eros</em>. He couldn’t even call it falling, because with falling, there’s always a collision. Loving Penelope was floating—buoyant, ebullient, liberating.</p><p>When he’d finally pressed his mouth to hers that first time— <em>really</em>kissed her—after a horrific case that he almost didn’t come back from, he was worried that maybe he’d been too late. They’d said I love you so many times before, but he’d never said <em>I’m in love with you</em>, <em>it’s only you</em>, <em>I’m ready for you</em>, <em>it’s never felt like this</em>, <em>you’re the sun and the moon and the stars all at once</em>.</p><p>But then she’d kissed him back, and he hadn’t been too late, and she was <em>with</em> him. And everything and nothing changed. It was still all flirting, but this time they could back it up. And he really, <em>really</em> loved backing it up with Penelope Garcia.</p><p>She caught his eye and quirked a brow and brought him back to himself. He grinned and held his hands out at his creation, and she inspected it with a nod of approval. He could see that the basket was almost empty, but there were a few more items left. She pulled out three ornate gold buttons, pressing them firmly to the torso. “And the finishing touch for our snow diva.” Derek laughed when she placed the teal, feathered hat at a slight angle on top.</p><p>“She’s pretty incredible.” He tucked her under his arm and hugged her close. “Like someone else I know.”</p><p>Her arms snaked around his waist. “Mmmhmm. And don’t you forget it.”</p><p>“I could never.” He pressed a kiss to her temple. “But your hour is up, sweetness.”</p><p>“We have to get some pictures with her first,” she said, pulling out her phone. When he groaned, she continued, “And then, we’ll go inside, and I’ll help you get all—” kiss, “warmed—” kiss, “up.” She whispered the last bit against his mouth and gave him a sweet, sultry smile.</p><p>“I like the sound of that.” He tried to kiss her again, but she laughed and pushed him off, gesturing toward their snow woman.</p><p>“I’m sure you do, my love.” It was funny the way his heart still soared when she called him that, even though he’d heard it a thousand times. “Now, give her a kiss.” He sighed, but leaned down to pucker up next to their creation. He heard the shutter sound and stayed still for two more, well practiced in the art of posing for Penelope’s pictures. “Perfect!”</p><p>He held his hand out to her. She laced their gloved fingers together, and he tugged her forward, catching her when she toppled into him. Brown eyes met brown eyes, and then he watched as a snowflake fell onto her nose. He grabbed her phone, quickly opening the camera and snapping a picture before it melted. “Mmm, that’s a perfect photo.” He pressed a kiss onto the tip of her nose, right over the top of the snowflake. “Now, let’s go inside so I can kiss my real diva.”</p><p>———</p><p>some snow diva inspiration <a href="https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2F1.bp.blogspot.com%2F-rDP9FOUcPW0%2FULzYVCctvlI%2FAAAAAAAABx0%2FDPIF7_OE5dc%2Fs1600%2FPicture15.png&amp;t=ZWU1MGU3OWI0NDczYjE3MTc0ZTE5ODgzNzgzNzk2ZTQyZjRjYjYzYyxiNTNjYTBjMmViYWZkZmE2MzM2YmQ1NjQxMTYyZWUxZmIyY2MwYzc0&amp;ts=1608511506">x</a> <a href="https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Ffreshpatio.com%2Fwp-content%2Fuploads%2F2019%2F10%2F4-fashionistas-2.jpg&amp;t=Mzc2MTc1NzY3N2U3MzY2OTgzMTAxMzQ1ZjU4ZGZmNDMxNTczNzkzZCxmY2YyYWVlODUxMTIxNTMwNThkZTcwZTMwYWU5ZjA2ZjRkZmEzODI0&amp;ts=1608511506">x</a> <a href="https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2F4.bp.blogspot.com%2F-88F_c6iyjE0%2FUD-FPCCQ6OI%2FAAAAAAAABrY%2FH3EBTfXCCNA%2Fs1600%2FSnowman03.jpg&amp;t=OGUzNDAzMzg1ZDhiMGNiODI4MDA2MWY1MmZkYTAxMWYyNjE0YjI5YSxjY2RhY2IzNjdmZDhmMTlkZGU4OTViYmNmNGQ3YTE1NmZiOGQ0NGIx&amp;ts=1608511506">x</a></p>
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<a name="section0010"><h2>10. I'm Glad It's You</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Summary: Spencer thinks he’s getting a lame re-gift because Reader forgot who gave them the gift. That is not the case. Based on the prompt: You gave me the present that I gave to YOU last year?</p><p>Pairing: Spencer Reid x gn!reader</p><p>Category: fluff</p><p>Warnings/Includes: none</p><p>Word count: 912</p><p>a/n: A Very Moosey Ficmas Day 10! Another shorty, but hopefully it packs a punch anyway. Can’t believe we’re almost at the end of the ficmas road 🥺😭♥️</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Your laugh echoed off the ceiling as you unwrapped Spencer’s final gift to you, <a href="https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.etsy.com%2Flisting%2F635558472%2Fpersonalized-light-when-name-farts-soy%3Fgpla%3D1%26gao%3D1%26%26utm_source%3Dgoogle%26utm_medium%3Dcpc%26utm_campaign%3Dshopping_us_christmas_Home_and_Living%26utm_custom1%3D_k_CjwKCAiArIH_BRB2EiwALfbH1KxGWvuOpT9mbkjOEXjAV7ZGGeqPNdDRmci6E4SRm-PpDaRKl44W2RoC3K4QAvD_BwE_k_%26utm_content%3Dgo_1707294370_69268674649_331635229806_pla-303628061699_c__635558472_118508474%26utm_custom2%3D1707294370%26gclid%3DCjwKCAiArIH_BRB2EiwALfbH1KxGWvuOpT9mbkjOEXjAV7ZGGeqPNdDRmci6E4SRm-PpDaRKl44W2RoC3K4QAvD_BwE&amp;t=ZDZiYzYzNTgzYjkwNWYyMWZhMWY0YjcyMmUyOTNmOGNhODQ0YjUxNSw4YzEwOGU2OWM1NDEyNzUwODIwMjQyNThkNGUxYmVkMTZmOGZjZjQy&amp;ts=1608642033">a candle</a> that read <em>Light When Spencer Farts</em>. His dairy sensitivity had gotten progressively worse over the years, unfortunately for you. “Oh my god,” you gasped out. “This is incredible.”</p><p>He was cracking up, too, practically doubled over with it. “I couldn’t pass it up. You’re gonna need it tonight. Sorry in advance.”</p><p>You groaned exaggeratedly into his shoulder. “Great! Can’t wait.” He was past the point of embarrassment over it, but you still pressed a reassuring kiss to his laughter-flushed cheek. “I guess it’s a good thing I love you, huh?” You both swiped at your eyes, finally settling down from the giggles. You reached for the package on the coffee table, turning to hold out your final gift to him.</p><p>He took it— simple brown butcher paper tied with red twine. Still laughing a little bit to himself, he pulled the knot loose, untangling the twine and unwrapping the paper. His eyes fell on the leather bound journal, and you watched a range of emotions cross his pretty, angular face— surprise, confusion, a flash of annoyance, before he settled on his poker face.</p><p>“Um… thank you,” he said, trying to school his voice into something less bothered than he surely was.</p><p>You laughed. “I’m assuming you know what it is.”</p><p>He looked at you then, the confusion returning. “It—it’s the journal I gave you last year?” He phrased it as a question, though he knew the answer. “At the risk of sounding rude… you’re re-gifting me something that you know I got for you?”</p><p>Your lips twitched at the corners. “I mean, technically yes. Although it’s changed some since last year.”</p><p>“It’s… changed some?” He looked at the cover, slightly worn but relatively the same. He would know— he’d had it specially made and bound just for you.</p><p>“I made some… additions.” When he just stared at you, you laughed. “Oh my god, just open it.”</p><p>If anything, his confusion only deepened at your direction. With a furrowed brow, he opened the cover of the journal. On the front page, in your handwriting, the phrase: <em>if I know what love is, it is because of you.</em></p><p>“Wha— what is this?” he asked.</p><p>You watched his face carefully, picking a little at your nails, nervous now that it was actually in his hands. “Keep reading.”</p><p>He turned to the next page, eyes tracing across the page, tracing across your handwriting looping over the lines.</p><p>~</p><p>
  <em>I don’t have an eidetic memory. But I want to remember every single moment with you. I want to remember every single thing I love about you. And if I tried to say them all out loud, we’d run out of time in our little sliver of the infinite now. So I guess I’m just going to have to write them down. </em>
</p><p>~</p><p>
  <em>12/26/2019 </em>
</p><p>
  <em>I hate Boxing Day. I used to think it was because the holidays were coming to an end. And in some ways, it was.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>But the more I think about it, the more I realize that it was because I always spent the holidays surrounded by the people who love me. And then when they were over, I’d be by myself again.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Right now, you’re banging around in the kitchen at 7:30am, and I should be annoyed that you’re not sleeping in with me on a rare day off. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>But I’m really, really not. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Because I’m holding this journal, and I can already smell the pancakes, and I can already hear you singing, and I can already tell you’re on a mission to make sure this day is as happy as any other. And no one has ever loved me this much. And maybe I don’t hate Boxing Day anymore. Not as long as I get to spend it with you. </em>
</p><p>~</p><p>Spencer looked up from the page to find your eyes, reached out across the couch to find your hand, opened his mouth to speak, but no sound came out.</p><p>“It’s 365 little notes, give or take. I think a few days have more than one,” you explained. “They aren’t all happy, because I wrote one even on the days I was angry with you or sad about something else.” You ran your free hand down the back of your neck. “I know you can probably read them all in an hour, or you could save them for a difficult day, or whatever you want to do, really. If you think it’s weird—”</p><p>“Weird?” Spencer questioned. “Y/N, this is— this is <em>easily</em> the most incredible thing anyone’s ever done for me.” He set the book in his lap and gathered you into his arms. “No one has ever loved me this much either.” He pressed a kiss to your shoulder, and then pressed himself closer. “I’m so glad it’s you.”</p><p>Tears— of relief, but also of gratitude, of joy— spilled over your lash line. “God— me, too. I’m so glad it’s you.”</p><p>You held each other for a long moment, just reveling in the act of loving and being loved.</p><p>When Spencer finally pulled back, swiping under his eyes, he let out a watery laugh. “Sorry your last gift was a fart candle.”</p><p>You laughed and grabbed the journal from his lap. “Hand me that pen,” you demanded, pointing to a pen on the side table. “Gotta add fart candle to the list.”</p><p> </p>
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<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Santa's Working On It</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Summary: Literally just Santa!Rossi. Based on the prompt: Pleaseeee? Nobody else wants to play Santa!<br/>Category: fluff, one tiny moment of angst</p><p>Warnings/Includes: none</p><p>Word count: 582</p><p>a/n: A Very Moosey Ficmas Day 11! Tell me this mf doesn’t look like a foxy Santa with that all white beard. Again, another lil shorty, but tomorrow is the beast of a TMSIDK xmas fic.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“No. Absolutely not. No way.”</p><p>Dave waved his hands as he gathered up his things, trying to get out of his office before anyone else could corner him.</p><p>“Rossi, <em>please</em>.” JJ stood in the doorway with pleading eyes. “We couldn’t get Henry to the mall in time, and he’s devastated. I’ll do your paperwork for a week.” She gave him her best smile.</p><p>He grabbed the handle of his bag and walked around the corner of his desk. “Not a chance,” he said simply, brushing past her and out of his office. He walked down the hallway toward Aaron’s office, ignoring JJ’s crestfallen expression.</p><p>Aaron happened to be exiting his office at the same time, briefcase in hand. He had a look on his face that could only be described as trepidatious, and Dave stopped dead in his tracks. Aaron closed his office door, and shifted his bag to the other hand. He opened his mouth to speak, and Dave held up his hand. “Don’t even think about it. JJ already asked. It’s a no.”</p><p>Aaron pursed his lips, making brief eye contact with JJ. “That’s a shame. I heard Santa really loves cigars, so I was going to substitute two tickets to the Cigars International Fest in the Poconos for the cookies and milk this year.” He raised his eyebrow.</p><p>Dave chewed the inside of his lip. “The Poconos, huh?”</p><p>Aaron’s lips twitched. “I hear it’s beautiful there in May.”</p><p>…</p><p>That’s how Dave ended up on a rare Saturday off, dressed in a scratchy white beard and a Santa suit, ringing Aaron’s doorbell at 11:30am. JJ’s dark blue SUV was out front, indicating the Jack-Henry play date was in full swing.</p><p>Dave could hear them through the door; Aaron asking aloud, “Hmmm, I wonder who that could be?”</p><p>The door opened to reveal Aaron in jeans and a crewneck, and a sufficiently shocked Jack. “Santa!”</p><p>Dave grabbed his fake belly. “Ho, ho, ho! Merrrrrry Christmas!”</p><p>Henry came sprinting around the corner into the foyer, eyes wide with wonder. Dave put his hands on his hips. “I heard there were two little boys who wanted to make sure their Christmas lists made it to the North Pole.”</p><p>The boys were in the doorway, practically vibrating with excitement. Dave pulled the envelopes from his pocket. Aaron and JJ stood just behind them, chuckling and recording the moment on their phones. “I wanted to assure you that I did receive your letters, and the elves and I are working hard on your lists.”</p><p>The boys erupted in a cheer, jumping up and down. Henry grabbed Dave’s hand. “Do you like hot dogs? You could stay for lunch before you go back to the North Pole!”</p><p>Dave hummed. “Well, they’re not my favorite. I wonder if your dad might have a bratwurst, Jack.”</p><p>Aaron grinned. “I think that can be arranged, Santa.”</p><p>The boys cheered, excited beyond belief to be having lunch with Santa Claus. Henry pulled him into the house, and Jack closed the door behind him. Aaron and JJ moved toward the kitchen, and Jack tugged gently on Dave’s pant leg. Dave leaned down closer, and Jack moved in, dropping his voice to a whisper. “You even got the wish for my dad?”</p><p>Dave smiled underneath the scratchy beard, <em>please help my daddy be happy again</em> flashing through his mind,tears pricking the corners of his eyes. His voice was thick when he answered, “Yeah. I’m working on that one, too, kiddo.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. The First of Many</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Summary: TMSIDK verse Spencer and Reader head back to North Carolina for Christmas. There’s Christmas Karaoke, some cooking with Mama Rose, an emotional gift exchange, and another shop talk.</p><p>Pairing: Spencer x fem!reader</p><p>Category: fluff, a lil smidge of angst</p><p>Warnings/Includes: none</p><p>Word count: 7k</p><p>a/n: A Very Moosey Ficmas Day 12! I can’t believe I just wrote 12 days of fics. This is the christmas sequel to the TMSIDK thanksgiving fic, Lighthouse (and I think the adage rings true that the sequel is never as good 😭🤣💀). This fic can generally stand alone, but I do recommend reading Lighthouse first if you haven’t.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Y/N closed the car door and came around to the trunk, where Spencer was already unloading their bags onto the gravel driveway. She caught sight of the bag full of wrapped gifts as he pulled it from the trunk. “Okay, Santa,” she laughed. “When did you manage to pack that big ol’ sack of presents in here?”</p><p>“Well, considering you didn’t carry a single bag down to the car, I had plenty of time,” he teased.</p><p>“You said you didn’t need help!” she defended.</p><p>He kissed her nose, chuckling at her open mouth. “And I didn’t.”</p><p>She eyed the bag, as he swung it over his shoulder like a literal Santa Claus. “You do know you only needed to bring one gift for the white elephant thing?”</p><p>“I’m aware.” He shrugged, then raised a playful brow as he started toward the house. “You’re going to have to carry your own bag in.”</p><p>“Again— <em>you</em> said you didn’t need help.” She hauled her overnight bag over her shoulder and jogged to catch up to him. “God, you’re fast.”</p><p>“An individual’s walking speed is proportional to the square root of their leg length, although the square root dependence means the difference in speed is actually negligible.” He stopped at the base of the stairs, turning to take her in. “Taller people walk faster but not by much. You’re just a slow walker.”</p><p>Y/N’s mouth dropped open again, and Spencer grinned as he took the stairs two at a time, just to gloat. “Come on, slowpoke.”</p><p>Y/N barked out a laugh and followed him up the stairs. She couldn’t help but feel a little proud that he was relaxed enough to make jokes this time around— a far cry from the nervous wreck he’d been a month ago. “You’re full of it.”</p><p>“I’m full of nothing but love.” He pushed open the door and stepped inside, immediately at home in the now familiar space. He could already hear the sound of laughter from the kitchen.</p><p>The two of them set their bags down, kicked off their shoes, and headed down the hallway. Y/N called out, “The favorite’s here!”</p><p>Three heads turned from their places around the kitchen, and Rose’s face lit up. “I don’t have favorites.” She scurried around the kitchen island and snatched Y/N up in a hug. “But I sure did miss my baby.” Rose held on a moment longer before she released Y/N, patting her cheek.</p><p>Y/N moved to greet Travis and Jenny, and Rose turned to Spencer. Much to her delight, he wrapped her immediately into a hug. He hooked his chin over her shoulder, and she gave him a tight squeeze. “Hi, Rose.”</p><p>“Hi, darlin’.” She held on a moment longer. “I do feel bad for all those people you don’t hug, ‘cause you’re awfully good at it.” She released him from her hug, and he greeted Travis and Jenny with a wave.</p><p>Y/N leaned against the countertop. “Where’s dad?”</p><p>“Just finishing up something or other in the shop,” Rose informed her. “Should be in soon.”</p><p>Travis folded his arms on top of the island and leaned over them, eyeing Spencer. “So, doc— how’s the song comin’ along?”</p><p>Spencer laughed a little nervously. “Well, it’s— it’s about as good as it’s going to get, I think. I’m relatively tone-deaf, so apologies in advance.”</p><p>Travis looked to Y/N, and she shook her head. “He’s not that bad.” She squinted at him like that might help her read his mind. “And he’s been<em> very</em> secretive, so I have no idea what to expect.”</p><p>Travis hummed. Jenny looked at Spencer with a bright smile. “I’m sure it’ll be great, Spencer.” She bumped Travis’ shoulder. “Travis holds the title for most tone deaf in this house, so don’t you worry your pretty little head about that.”</p><p>…</p><p>Lee and Bailey arrived, like clockwork, at 1:30. Travis, Jenny, Spencer, and Y/N waited in the kitchen while Rose got after them in the foyer.</p><p>The sliding glass door opened, and Hank stepped in from the chill, rubbing his hands together. He held a hand up in greeting, and then gave a head nod toward the foyer. “What do y’all think? They need help?”</p><p>Y/N pulled a joking grimace. “She just started, so you could probably speed up the process and put them out of their misery.”</p><p>Hank nodded and headed toward the foyer. Travis shook his head. “They bring it on themselves. I don’t ever wanna be on that side of Rosie again. Once was enough.”</p><p>Spencer quirked a brow. “Once?”</p><p>“I brought Jenny home past curfew,” Travis explained. “Just about lost my hearin’. Hank’s got nothin’ on her.”</p><p>Spencer huffed out a laugh. “I don’t know. The shop talk isn’t something I’d want to experience again.” Travis hummed in agreement. “Two sides of the same coin, I suppose.”</p><p>Lee and Bailey made their way into the kitchen, looking thoroughly admonished. “We really gotta get on the road earlier next year,” Lee remarked.</p><p>Y/N got up to hug them. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”</p><p>As they were finishing up their greetings, Rose and Hank appeared in the doorway. Rose pursed her lips, but before she could say anything, Hank pulled her close to his side. “All right, who’s comin’ with me to Burney’s?”</p><p>“Oh my god, I haven’t been to Burney’s since last Christmas,” Y/N said.</p><p>Lee and Bailey were quick to accept the offer as well, scooting around Rose sheepishly. Jenny headed out with them, while Travis opted to stay back at the house. Rose made her way back to the oven.</p><p>Y/N looked to Spencer. “Burney’s is <em>the best</em> bakery in Fayetteville. You wanna come?”</p><p>He smiled at her. “Maybe next time? I think I’m gonna stay here with your mom.”</p><p>“Okay.” She gave him a soft look and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “See y’all in a bit.”</p><p>When it was just the three of them left in the kitchen, Travis blew out a breath. “I’ma take a shower, ma. Try to clear out my sinuses before karaoke tonight. I’ll be back down to help in a bit.”</p><p>Rose nodded. “All right, sugar.”</p><p>Travis clapped Spencer on the shoulder on his way upstairs. Rose closed the oven and reset the timer. Spencer waited at the island, giving her space to settle. It didn’t take long.</p><p>“I know I must seem like a right ol’ git pitchin’ a fit about them being late.”</p><p>Spencer shook his head. “Not at all. It’s actually a rather common pet peeve.” He joined her at the counter. “It’s one of mine, too.” Her lips twitched, and he placed his hands on the marble. “What can I do to help?”</p><p>She put him to work peeling potatoes, cutting up carrots, and ripping up the bread for the stuffing. Cooking, particularly for a holiday meal, was an entire production. It was also incredibly personal; family recipes filled with memories, pans and casserole dishes that had been passed down through the generations, moving together in synchronicity. It’s part of why Spencer had stayed behind. He’d spoken over the phone with Rose several times since Thanksgiving, usually after a visit with his mom. Her warm voice had soothed him then, as her warm kitchen comforted him now.</p><p>They worked quietly for a while, and then the stuffing was in the oven, and the potatoes were boiling on the stovetop, and they had a minute to themselves.</p><p>Rose wiped her hands on the kitchen towel and poured them both a glass of iced tea. “It’s never too cold for sweet tea.” She handed him the glass. “How’ve you been, sugar?”</p><p>Spencer smiled and took a sip from the tea before answering. “I’ve been doing well. Things have been surprisingly slow for us at work, which has been nice. How about you? Did you finish that needle felting project?”</p><p>Her eyes lit up. “Oh! Bless you, I did! I’ll show them to you later— I got the whole woodland creature alphabet in there.” She waved her hand vaguely in the direction of her craft room.</p><p>“Did you know that the use of felt as a textile dates back to around 4000 BC?” he asked. “It’s the oldest known textile in the world.”</p><p>“My heavens. No, I didn’t know that.”</p><p>“It’s mentioned in countless ancient writings,” he explained, “but the earliest felt remains date back to 700 BC. They were found in frozen tombs in the Siberian mountains.”</p><p>“From Siberia to my craft room.” She winked at him. “How’s your mama doin’, sweetie?”</p><p>“She’s doing okay.” He shrugged. “She has good days and bad. Y/N and I were able to spend a good day with her last week, which was— really special for me. I don’t know how many more of those she has.”</p><p>Rose looked at him knowingly, a glimmer of sadness shining in her irises. “I’m so glad you’re able to be close to her and have those moments while you can. I know I cherish the ones I had with my mama.”</p><p>“Me, too,” he agreed. “Convincing her to move out here was the best thing I did.”</p><p>Rose hummed. “What’s your favorite memory with her?”</p><p>Spencer leaned back against the island. “She used to read to me every single night.” Rose smiled softly, and he fiddled with the rim of his glass. “She always says that books are worlds of their own. Reading has brought me to so many places in my life, both literal and figurative. And that all started with her.”</p><p>“That’s a lovely memory to have.” He smiled and nodded his head. “When you were little, did y’all cook together like this?” she asked.</p><p>He shrugged. “Not really. She was never big on cooking. I did a lot of it myself, especially since I was on my own pretty early on.” He gestured around to the kitchen. “And I certainly didn’t do any cooking like this.”</p><p>“Well, that’s all right. Cookin’ ain’t everyone’s thing. Neither of my girls really took after me in the kitchen,” she laughed. “Y/N tried to make eggs for Hank and me on our anniversary once when she was young. She used a whole stick of butter in the pan for four eggs.” She shook her head and laughed. “Hank choked ‘em down so she wouldn’t feel bad, but my Lord. I like butter as much as the next person, but that was just— like eatin’ an oil slick.”</p><p>Spencer chuckled. “She’s not so bad anymore. We cook together a lot, and she makes an amazing pot pie.”</p><p>“Oh!” Rose lit up. “She makes my pot pie?”</p><p>“If I could convince her, we’d have it once a week,” Spencer confirmed.</p><p>She grinned at him. “You just love to flatter me.”</p><p>“Well, it’s an easy thing to do.”</p><p>When the potatoes were done boiling, she had Spencer mash them up. She helped him add the milk and sour cream, the butter and the garlic. She had him taste test them, and he was floored by how ingredients so simple could taste so delicious.</p><p>“All right, the last thing is the green beans. Now, I make mine as an almondine. So, we have to brown the butter with the almonds first.” She turned the gas burner on and dropped a hunk of butter into a cast iron pan. “This is my great grandmama’s cast iron, and it’s the only pan I’ve ever used to make my green beans.”</p><p>When the butter was melted, she dropped a handful of slivered almonds into the pan and handed Spencer a wooden spoon. “Stir those, and be careful not to let ‘em burn. We want ‘em nice and toasted.” She retrieved a colander of green beans from the sink, while Spencer carefully monitored the almonds.</p><p>“You’re a natural!” Rose patted his arm. After two minutes, she dumped the green beans into the pan. “Now, you can add water, but I like to use a little chicken stock— gives it more flavor.” She added a few splashes of the broth. “Use the salt and pepper to season it,” she directed.</p><p>As Spencer shook a little of both over the pan, she popped in beside him and scraped some garlic off her cutting board. “And of course, you gotta have a little garlic. Now stir ‘em up a bit.” Spencer did as she asked, and then she handed him a lid. “Now, pop the lid on there, and we’ll let it simmer for four to five minutes.”</p><p>Travis strolled into the kitchen, freshly showered and hair damp. “God, smells good in here already.”</p><p>Rose looked over her shoulder at him. “Can you check the roast for me?”</p><p>“You got it.” Travis headed out the sliding glass door.</p><p>Rose opened the oven to check on the stuffing, apparently deciding it wasn’t quite ready. “We smoke the roast out on the grill,” she told Spencer. “Better flavor that way.”</p><p>Travis came back in the door. “Looks good, ma. Needs about ten more minutes.”</p><p>“Thank you, baby.” She smiled and raised a hand to gesture in his direction. “You know what you could do for me now is set the table. We’re almost done in here, so lay out the potholders, too.”</p><p>…</p><p>They were just finished setting out the side dishes when the rest of the crew piled in through the door, laughing and carrying on. Hank poked his head in the dining room, brown paper bag in hand. He held it up and shook it, eyes on Rose. “Got your favorites.”</p><p>She cocked her head to the side. “I knew I married you for a reason.” She blew him a kiss, and he grinned. “Now, if any of y’all eat my treats, there’s gonna be hell to pay,” she called out to her children.</p><p>Lee strolled into the dining room, hands raised in surrender. “Wouldn’t dream of it.” He eyed her warily. “Am I forgiven yet?”</p><p>Rose pursed her lips and rested her hands on her hips. Lee gave her a pout, and she huffed out a breath. “C’mere you.” Lee broke out into a grin and stepped forward to hug her. “You know I just worry. What if y’all broke down, or got in an accident, or—”</p><p>“Mama.” Lee kissed her cheek. “We’re here, we’re fine.” He pulled back. “I’m just a dipstick.”</p><p>She sighed. “Well, I won’t argue with that.”</p><p>Lee feigned shock. “I thought you were supposed to love me unconditionally.”</p><p>“I do, dear.” She patted his cheek. “But Lord, sometimes I swear it’s like the porch light’s on, but no one’s home.”</p><p>Bailey barked out a laugh as she appeared in the doorway. “You got that right.”</p><p>“Hey!” Lee looked around. “One of y’all gonna step up and stop this slander?”</p><p>Spencer pursed his lips, and Travis took a sip of his beer in lieu of an answer. Y/N appeared behind him and flicked his ear. “It’s not slander if it’s true.” She arched her back to escape the hand that came out to playfully smack her, cackling as she jogged into the kitchen to wash her hands.</p><p>It took a few minutes for everyone to get cleaned up and settled in. Then Hank brought in the roast and expertly carved it, while Jenny poured everyone a glass of wine. Rose said grace, this time expressing gratitude for <em>my babies getting home safely, for our health, for the love in our hearts, for the gift of having all my favorite people under one roof</em>.</p><p>Spencer wasn’t sure how it was possible, but this meal was even better than their thanksgiving meal. Maybe it was the food itself, or maybe it was the way he already felt like he belonged here. He was comfortable with Y/N’s family in a way that continuously surprised him. The teasing banter, the easy affection, the deep love that was evident in every laugh, every smile, every silly face. It felt natural and effortless in a way none of his familial relationships had ever been. He loved his mother and his found family. But he also loved the way he felt in this house, with this family— accepted fully, and unconditionally, and without reservation.</p><p>As he watched them from over the plate of food that he’d helped make, his heart swelled with the hope that maybe this could be his family, too.</p><p>…</p><p>“All right, y’all. It’s karaoke time!” Lee called.</p><p>The whole crew shuffled into the living room, clad in pajamas and cozy socks. Spencer’s eyes widened at the set up. Next to the Christmas tree, there was a full on karaoke machine with microphones, speakers, and a little tv screen for the lyrics. “This is… impressive.”</p><p>“Oh yeah,” Y/N agreed. “We go all out.” She settled onto a spot on the floor, patting the ground next to her and smiling up at him. He dropped down next to her, crossing his legs and scooting in close.</p><p>Lee stood behind the machine, looking out over the lot of them— Rose and Hank sitting close on the loveseat, and Travis, Jenny, and Bailey crammed together on the couch. “Everybody got their drinks? Singin’ voices ready?”</p><p>They all held up their glasses, and Travis did a little vocal warmup, drawing a laugh from the room. Lee grinned. “All right, last year we started with the baby, so this year we’re starting with the oldest. That means you’re up, mama.”</p><p>Lee queued up the song for her, and Rose carefully maneuvered to the makeshift stage area, sure not to spill a drop of her wine. “I’ve got two for y’all tonight— both classics, of course.”</p><p>A guitar picked out the first bar of <a href="https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3DIxrje2rXLMA&amp;t=MjI1ZDBlMjY0NWQ2NGFhNjIzMGQxMzMxY2JkMjJlYjE4MWMyODNiMSxmMTI4NjgyODY3ZWQyMmRkMjExOThjM2QwYjYyZmRmYzJjZWVmOWM5&amp;ts=1608961276">the song</a>, and the three women in the audience squealed in excitement. Rose had a lovely voice, not far off from the vibrato of Dolly herself. When the chorus came along the second time, they were all singing along to J<em>olene, Jolene, Jolene, Jolene— I’m beggin’ of you please don’t take my man</em>.</p><p>They all cheered as the last notes faded out, and Rose gave them a curtsy. Lee queued up her second selection, and she said, “This one goes out to all my boys. Especially you, my love.” She pointed at Hank.</p><p>The ladies all recognized <a href="https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3DmUFObCZtGWQ&amp;t=YWUyZWI0YzE4NzllMjUzMWFiY2RiZDdjNDAyM2Y4MDhjY2Y3YTUzYixiNjViMTZiZTlkM2Q5OGMzMjU2ZDM4ZTQ1ZjU5MGQ0OWQzZjc5NDY4&amp;ts=1608961276">the second song</a> immediately as well, and Spencer wondered if that might be a recurring theme. Spencer smiled a little at the song— a story of young love and overprotective parents.</p><p>The whole lot of them belted out the final chorus:</p><p>
  <em>My daddy said you wasn’t worth a lick<br/>When it came to brains you got the short of the stick<br/>But he was wrong and honey you are too<br/>Katie looks at Tommy like I still look at you</em>
</p><p>As the applause rang out and Rose returned to her seat, Travis grinned. “Funny you picked that song considerin’ you’re the one who chased me clear off the porch.”</p><p>Rose pulled a shocked face. “I did no such thing.”</p><p>“You swatted me with the dang newspaper!”</p><p>Everyone laughed, and Rose’s lips twitched. “I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about.”</p><p>Hank stood and made his way to the microphone, whiskey in hand. “And everyone thinks I’m the scary one.” Lee got him set up as the giggles tapered off. “First one’s for all y’all kids.” Y/N leaned her head against Spencer’s shoulder as Hank <a href="https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3D287ATMhVVO4&amp;t=ZGQ2NjRhODQzNjU4OWMwMDk3NDRkYTE4ZTM3MmJlZmJiNzljMTcxYSw4NDI5MmYwZWExMWI5MWM3ZDI4M2FkNTZjZDhmMWRhOWU2ODIzMzc4&amp;ts=1608961276">began to sing</a>, his twang ringing out over the living room.</p><p>It was a song he’d never heard before, and Spencer listened carefully to the lyrics. Y/N moved to hold his hand about the same time he realized what the song was about.</p><p>
  <em>Let me tell you a secret about a father’s love<br/>A secret that my daddy said was just between us<br/>He said daddies don’t just love their children every now and then<br/>It’s a love without end, amen</em>
</p><p>Spencer couldn’t help but think about his own father, and how untrue those words were for him. His heart ached for the boy he’d once been— the boy that was still somewhere inside him— who had spent so many years wishing desperately for a dad. Y/N sang along quietly, and Spencer tried not to feel too envious.</p><p>And then he looked up and caught Hank’s eyes on him. Hank raised his glass a little as he sang and gave Spencer a nod. To anyone outside of the family, it wouldn’t have looked like much of anything, but Spencer had come to understand that Hank was a man of restrained affection— much like himself. For the two of them, that nod was practically a bone-crushing hug. He felt the tears pricking the corners of his eyes as he nodded back.</p><p>When the song faded out, all the girls blew Hank kisses, and Lee clapped a hand on his shoulder before queuing up the next song.</p><p>“And <a href="https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3DSQDWayLiOEE&amp;t=NzkyNTY4NGJlMTQwNzY5YzllM2QzOThlMDliOTk1MmZmYjA2ZjcyZCw5YTZhMGU5NGZjMTgyZDUxODhjYjEwNTk3YzU5YmEwMmI3M2NiMjgz&amp;ts=1608961276">one for my bride</a>,” Hank smiled.</p><p>Y/N was crying before he even made it to the chorus. She leaned a little bit into Spencer’s side as Hank sang:</p><p>
  <em>You’re my bread when I’m hungry<br/>You’re my shelter from troubled winds<br/>You’re my anchor in life’s ocean<br/>But most of all you’re my best friend</em>
</p><p>Rose was up from her seat as the last notes faded out, pulling Hank down into a kiss. Lee got up from his spot on the couch, swiping at his eyes. “Well, now that everyone’s cryin’— Trav, please tell me you’ve got somethin’ to get us riled up.”</p><p>A round of watery laughs bounced around the warm living room. Travis grinned. “Rilin’ y’all up is my specialty.” They all looked around as the beginning of <a href="https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3DvNVguvNE7qc&amp;t=OWQ1OGYxYjg3YWMzNDI3MzIyNjg4ZmM4N2IzN2YxMzJhN2NlNjhkZSxiODc5NmNkOTlmMDBjYjExMjJlYmY4NmRlMTk0M2ZjZTM0ZTM0MzQ3&amp;ts=1608961276">the song</a> started; no one seemed to recognize it at first.</p><p>Travis spoke the intro. “Turn it up some… Alright boys, this is her favorite song, you know that right? So, if we play it good and loud, she might get up and dance again.” Jenny covered her face with her hands, but the rest of them still didn’t know it. “Ooh, she put her beer down. Here she comes, here she comes.”</p><p>As soon as he started singing the first verse— terribly off-key but with enough enthusiasm to make up for it—Y/N barked out a laugh. Everyone seemed to recognize it now, although Spencer was still lost. When the chorus started, Spencer couldn’t help but laugh as well. By the end of the song, he was singing right along with them to <em>hoo-wee, shut my mouth, slap your grandma</em>.</p><p>Travis took a bow and then cleared his throat. “I actually need a little help on this next one. Doc, you wanna be my duet partner?”</p><p>Spencer pointed at himself with a raised brow, and Travis laughed. “Yeah, you. You’re the only doctor we got.”</p><p>Y/N looked at Travis with a furrowed brow, and then watched in wonder as Spencer stood and joined him. He took the mic that Travis offered him, looking at Y/N sheepishly. Lee pressed play with a grin. As the <a href="https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3Dqi5nE4cPFAQ&amp;t=N2JiYWYwZTAzYTcwOTEzZWE5NzZjMWMyYjUwMWZlYmMxNjU2ZDA5YSw2NTM3MWFhZmQ1ODUwZjE3YmViYjYxOTBmYWQxMWM2MjkzMDFlYjdj&amp;ts=1608961276">opening guitar riffs</a> drifted through the speakers, Travis admitted, “We might’ve planned this.”</p><p>Jenny looked at Y/N and asked, “Did you know about this?” Y/N just shook her head and raised her eyebrows. As they got into the chorus, Jenny and Y/N were swaying and singing along, grinning from ear to ear. Spencer and Travis traded off throughout the song, equally off-key and enthusiastic. They sang the choruses together, arms around each other’s shoulders, swaying back and forth.</p><p>
  <em>And just when I think it can’t get no hotter, I come home to the farmer’s daughter.</em>
</p><p>There was a long round of applause, and they tipped their figurative hats before returning to their seats. Y/N was grinning at him when he plopped down next to her. “How in the world did y’all plan that?”</p><p>Spencer chuckled. “I may have mentioned that the idea of karaoke was giving me indigestion. Travis was kind enough to suggest a duet. We had a video chat or two.”</p><p>Y/N’s smile softened, and she pressed a kiss to his cheek. “You’re something else.”</p><p>Lee joked, “Well, I don’t know how any of us are supposed to follow that, but Jenny’s gonna try.”</p><p>“I need some help on my song, too,” Jenny said, beckoning Bailey and Y/N up to join her.</p><p>Spencer watched as Jenny belted out <a href="https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3DGw7gNf_9njs%26list%3DLL4OJHGd515NWbjr52N7dfrQ%26index%3D76&amp;t=MjFlYTkyZjIzNmZhYWNmMjM4YTBjNTc0ZDUzMjg1MGQ4ZTFjZTFjZixlZmE5Nzg2MGViNjE2ZGJiMGFmZWZiNzc4ODAxOGNkOWIyODFhM2Mw&amp;ts=1608961276">the first verse</a>, Bailey and Y/N swaying behind her. They came together for the chorus, and Spencer raised his eyebrows at the story of the song. Y/N shrugged and then threw him a playful wink. At the very least, he had to admire the story-telling.</p><p>Y/N and Bailey returned to their spots as the song ended. Spencer leaned in to Y/N’s side, murmuring, “I never knew a song about murder could be so catchy.”</p><p>She laughed. “Then you haven’t listened to enough country music.”</p><p>Jenny sang <a href="https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3Do8EamHKpdrM&amp;t=Yzc4Nzk3MTVkN2I1Y2VlNjQyMDNkZGQ1YmU4YzQxMjUzZDg2YjM5Yiw5ZjAwMmU5NGZkNWQyMzQwMDhhOWQxNGU0ZDI1MDIyODhjMzE1YzMz&amp;ts=1608961276">another song</a>, this one about love. She pointed to Travis and danced around and had everyone grinning. When she returned to her spot on the couch, they shared a long kiss.</p><p>Bailey was up next, and she brought her wine with her. “This one’s for my mister.” Lee set her up and then kissed her cheek on his way back to his seat. She swayed as she <a href="https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3DstnrBXwkjnU&amp;t=YzgxOTc5NGNkOTkzNWY2OTNhY2IxYTE0ODZjMWI0NDgwZWUwNjRhYywwODNiMjllYWU4Y2Y2NDllOWU1Yzc0NWJlM2Y0ZmY4MDlmNWE5YjM1&amp;ts=1608961276">sang to him</a>. Her voice was lovely, deeper than Spencer thought it would be as she crooned: <em>I wanna love like Johnny and June, rings of fire burnin’ with you, I wanna walk the line ‘til the end of time.</em></p><p>Lee gave her a standing ovation when she was finished, then swooped her into a kiss, dipping her backward to everyone’s delight. Then he queued up the next song for himself. “Y’all already know which song I’m singing.”</p><p>There was a round of hooting and hollering, and Spencer was thoroughly intrigued. As the electric guitar quietly strummed the opening notes, Y/N leaned in close and explained, “This is mama’s <a href="https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3DsXQ52LEXNZM&amp;t=MmQ1NDQyNTQ2YjBkMjA4N2U4N2RkMDE4ODAyMWJkMGYwYzljMzk5MywyNjJiZDhmZDI0N2YwYjBiZTM5MzMzMGY2ZDU3YWM2MTMxYzgzOTFj&amp;ts=1608961276">favorite song</a>. I’m convinced this yearly performance is the only reason he hasn’t been disowned.”</p><p>By the second chorus, the whole room was belting it out. Spencer watched with amusement and love as Y/N raised her arms up and closed her eyes.</p><p>
  <em>She’s my kind of rain<br/>Like love from a drunken sky<br/>Confetti falling<br/>Down all night<br/>She’s my kind of rain</em>
</p><p>When the applause for Lee’s performance tapered off, Y/N pressed a kiss to Spencer’s cheek before clamoring up off the ground. She grabbed the mic, and Spencer watched as she tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, then rubbed her hand down the back of her neck— her nervous tell. She sang all the time, and unlike him, she had a beautiful voice. He couldn’t imagine what she could possibly be nervous about. She didn’t introduce <a href="https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3DCytj0nrLaCs&amp;t=NjExMWE1ZDI3ODE2MTk4ZGU3YWQzM2RkNmViMDJmMWM2MDg0YjU5OSw4NjViYTNhOWUyZDllZmYwNWJmMDM2NGI1Y2Y2YWNmMDNmZWQ4M2Q1&amp;ts=1608961276">the song</a>, just waited quietly while Lee set it up. From the opening guitar, he only had about ten seconds to prepare, and it wasn’t nearly enough.</p><p>Her voice was already thick with emotion as she sang the first line: <em>You got a way with me</em>. She sang the first two verses with her eyes closed, and she kept them closed for the chorus, too. He was vaguely aware of several pairs of eyes on him, but he couldn’t look away from her. She opened her eyes, and they were shining with unshed tears.</p><p>
  <em>You got a way with words<br/>You get me smiling even when it hurts<br/>There’s no way to measure what your love is worth<br/>I can’t believe the way you get through to me</em>
</p><p>Spencer felt his chest tighten. She was singing lines that he should be singing to her. He thought back to a month ago, and Hank’s words rang in his ears. She was his lighthouse, his lover, his confidant, his champion. She was <em>his</em>, and he still couldn’t quite believe it.</p><p><em>Oh, how I adore you</em><br/>Like no one before you<br/>I love you just the way you are</p><p>Y/N smiled at him, a little watery but so, so bright, and he knew— two hundred and ninety two days after she’d given him a second chance to love her— that he’d never love anyone else as long as he lived.</p><p>…</p><p>On Christmas morning, Spencer woke up first. He turned on his side under the quilt, soaking up the moment. He ran the tip of his finger from her hairline, down the bridge of her nose, over her lips that were turned up in the faintest hint of a smile, and his heart soared with how much he loved her.</p><p>There was a knock at the door, and then Lee called, “Y’all decent?”</p><p>Y/N huffed out a soft sigh and unconsciously moved a little closer to him, and Spencer sat up in bed. “Yeah, we’re good.”</p><p>Lee opened the door and popped his head in. “We’re gonna eat in a few minutes.” He nodded to Y/N’s sleeping form. “You think you can handle wakin’ up the beast?”</p><p>Spencer laughed quietly. “Yeah, I got it.”</p><p>Lee gave him a thumbs up and closed the door. Spencer listened to the squeaking of the stairs and then ran a hand over her hair. “Hey,” he murmured. She practically purred at the scratch of his fingers against her scalp. He scooted back down in the bed until they were nose to nose. “We gotta get up.” Her eyes fluttered and she blinked a couple times to focus on his face. “There she is.”</p><p>She gave a whole body stretch and then a long sigh. “Morning. How long have you been up?”</p><p>“Not long.” She made a little snuffling sound, and he smiled at how incredibly adorable she was. “You’re not a beast at all.”</p><p>Her eyebrows shot into her hairline. “Excuse me?”</p><p>Spencer laughed. “Lee asked if I could handle waking the beast.”</p><p>She rolled her eyes. “You’d be a beast, too, if you got woken up every Christmas by a grown ass man jumping on your bed.”</p><p>They shuffled downstairs and into the dining room, the smell of cinnamon and coffee filling their noses. Spencer laughed as Rose shuffled the kids in front of the tree to get a picture in their matching sweaters— all different colors with their initial on the front.</p><p>They ate a breakfast of pastries from Burney’s, and then it was time to open gifts. The white elephant exchange was first: a thirty minute ordeal that had them all in stitches by the end of it. The gifts were absolutely ridiculous— a set of red solo cup wine glasses, a “dad bod” fanny pack, a yodeling pickle, and a rather horrifying mug that was just a blown up photo of Nicholas Cage. Spencer ended up with a bathroom spray called <em>No Shit, Sherlock</em>, which was actually quite fitting.</p><p>Then Rose began handing out the presents from under the tree. Each of the kids, including Spencer, received a jar of jam and a gift card to a store that fit them perfectly. Spencer’s was for the indie bookstore down the street from his apartment, which he was sure Y/N had a hand in.</p><p>“Oh, Spencer, here’s another one for you, sugar.” Rose handed him a medium sized box, and he looked at her with a furrowed brow.</p><p>He carefully tore the paper, setting it aside as he went. He lifted the lid of the white garment box, and then the red tissue paper that covered the gift. His fingers traced over the soft fabric of a <a href="https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Flp2.hm.com%2Fhmgoepprod%3Fset%3Dquality%255B79%255D%252Csource%255B%252F4a%252Fbf%252F4abf6c48862238cec8300cf9c1d6ee3476847e1a.jpg%255D%252Corigin%255Bdam%255D%252Ccategory%255B%255D%252Ctype%255BDESCRIPTIVESTILLLIFE%255D%252Cres%255Bm%255D%252Chmver%255B1%255D%26call%3Durl%255Bfile%3A%2Fproduct%2Ffullscreen%255D&amp;t=YTZkNWExOWI3YjU4YTk4NmQ0ZjJkNDQ3ZmVkMDk4ZDYxOGEzZDE0Miw1ZWM1NzdjNDhhZDVjMTUzODVhM2U3YTNlNTFhN2QxNzM5MGI0NWU4&amp;ts=1608961276">purple, cable knit sweater</a>. There was big, grey <em>S</em> knitted across the chest.</p><p>“I hope it fits. I eyeballed it with some help from Y/N, but I think it should give you enough room to gr—”</p><p>Spencer was up off the floor and pulling Rose into a hug before she could finish the sentence. She wrapped her arms around his middle, squeezing him tight. He hooked his chin over her shoulder, and she whispered, “Now, you’re official. Love ya, sugar.”</p><p>When they broke apart, he grabbed the sweater and immediately pulled it over his head. It fit him perfectly, soft and cozy and just loose enough. “Now I need another picture with all y’all,” Rose demanded.</p><p>The kids groaned, but there was no fire behind it. The boys stood in front of the tree, Spencer in the middle, Travis and Lee on either side with their arms around each other. The girls kneeled in front, and the six of them humored Rose for about a dozen pictures from different angles. When she was satisfied, they all returned to their spots around the living room. Spencer grabbed the two boxes left under the tree and turned to hand them to Hank and Rose.</p><p>“It’s nothing big,” he remarked, returning to his spot next to Y/N.</p><p>Rose opened hers first, a <a href="https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fcdn.shopify.com%2Fs%2Ffiles%2F1%2F0814%2F0441%2Fproducts%2Fneedle_felted_felting_wool_animals_brown_cow_cute_craft_1.jpg%3Fv%3D1433982809&amp;t=ZTEzMTY5OTYzY2I0YTJmNWI2ZTc3YjcyOGFhY2E0YjQwYjFjYmQ0OSxjZGQxODBkZTg0MzcwODBkZTViNzdlMjc1MTcyYzM3ZDA2MzgxYjY4&amp;ts=1608961276">needle felted brown cow</a>. “Oh my goodness! My very own Opal!” Spencer smiled and nodded. “Where did you find this?”</p><p>“Oh, I made it.” He shrugged. “We have a lot of time on the plane to and from cases.”</p><p>Her eyes went wide. “You’re gonna have to give me some lessons, Spencer.” She studied the cow, and he laughed. “I’m not kiddin’. Wait ‘til you see mine,” she joked.</p><p>Spencer shook his head. “I’m sure they’re perfect.”</p><p>She smiled and cradled the cow in her hands, not quite willing to put it down yet. Hank began tearing into his own gift, removing the paper and studying the box underneath. Spencer wrung his hands together a little nervously. “It’s a— a tablet. Nothing fancy, very user friendly,” he assured. “We can both keep our dinosaur phones, but now you can email me pictures of the parts you need me to look at.”</p><p>The room was quiet, and Spencer began to quietly panic, worried he’d overstepped somehow.</p><p>Hank looked up at him, the corners of his mouth turned up just slightly. “Well, ain’t that something. You’re gonna have to show me how to work it before you leave.” Hank turned the box over in his hands. “Thank you, son.”</p><p>Spencer nodded, swallowing the unexpected lump in his throat.</p><p>Travis and Lee stood from the couch. “Almost forgot,” Travis started. “The kids got y’all something, too.” The two of them disappeared into the foyer, returning with a giant box.</p><p>“Oh my Lord,” Rose scoffed. “Y’all didn’t have to get us nothing.”</p><p>“Well,” Jenny hedged. “This year we actually did. You’re gonna need it soon.”</p><p>Rose narrowed her eyes, and Hank raised his eyebrows. Bailey had her phone out, recording the moment. Y/N reached for Spencer’s hand. The six of them watched in anticipation as their parents ripped open the paper together, revealing <a href="https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.bestbuy.com%2Fsite%2Fgraco-pack-n-play-rock-n-grow-playard-orson%2F6428033.p%3FskuId%3D6428033%26ref%3D212%26loc%3D1%26ref%3D212%26loc%3D1%26gclid%3DCj0KCQiAuJb_BRDJARIsAKkycUntE7KfcP9F5nSnXOl7e5F07Ge15NI4CRBDkXfCzMVTg9kldWoymMUaAlrqEALw_wcB%26gclsrc%3Daw.ds&amp;t=ZDM1ZTYwODJiMWVjNzI5OGJhNjRkY2NkNTdhYzljZDI3MWNkOTgxNCw2NDVkMWVjODJkZmNmYjY5NzIyZGQ5ZGMwYzIwOWRiMjU2NmZiNTU0&amp;ts=1608961276">the box</a> underneath. There was a long pause, and then Rose squeaked out, “What— what in the world?”</p><p>“You’re going to be grandparents,” Jenny said thickly. “In May.”</p><p>Hank’s mouth dropped open, and he looked around at all of them for confirmation. Rose sucked in a breath and then nearly shouted, “Are you fuckin’ kiddin’ me?”</p><p>“Mama!” Y/N laughed.</p><p>“Are you serious?!” Rose asked. Jenny nodded. “Are you fuckin’ serious?!”</p><p>Hank swatted her arm. “Would you stop swearin’ in front of my grand baby?!”</p><p>Rose practically fell over the coffee table in her haste to get to Jenny. She grabbed her hands and ran her eyes over her figure. “I’ma be a grandma?” When Jenny nodded, Rose burst into tears and snatched her into a hug. “How in the world did you keep it a secret?”</p><p>“Well, it’s easy to keep a secret when you don’t know about it, ma,” Travis joked.</p><p>“But you’ve been drinkin’!” Rose scolded, pulling back to gape at Jenny.</p><p>“My wine glass has been filled with water since August,” Jenny laughed.</p><p>The next few minutes were filled with hugs, congratulations, and tears. Spencer couldn’t help but allow himself to get wrapped up in the celebrations, hugs included. When everyone had settled, Hank and the boys worked to clean up the living room while the ladies fussed over Jenny in the kitchen.</p><p>When everything was cleaned up, everyone settled in for a second breakfast— everyone except Hank and Spencer. “Gotta watch my figure,” Hank joked. He nodded to Spencer. “You wanna show me how to use that gift?”</p><p>The two of them made their way out to the shop, and Spencer walked him through the process of setting up the limited apps— camera, photos, weather, email. They took a few test pictures and practiced emailing them to Spencer’s account. When he was pretty sure Hank had the hang of it, Spencer slipped the tablet back into the case for safe keeping.</p><p>Hank crossed his arms. “I don’t know what happened with your old man, but that’s all right. If he’s not in your life, then I already know everything there is to know.”</p><p>For the second time since meeting him, Spencer was shocked by Hank’s unadorned way of approaching tough conversations. Spencer set the tablet on the work bench and put his hands in his pockets. He could tell from Hank’s pursed lips that he wasn’t quite finished, so he waited quietly.</p><p>“What I know is that you’re a good man,” Hank continued. “Kind and genuine and smart as a whip. Any man’d be lucky to call you his son. I’m sorry yours didn’t make that clear.”</p><p>Spencer cleared his throat. “Thank you. For saying that.”</p><p>“Thanks ain’t necessary,” he assured. “I just thought you should know, in case no one told you.” Hank eyed Spencer with an emotion he couldn’t quite place. “I’m gonna hug ya now if that’s all right.”</p><p>It was a brief embrace, but it was one of the most significant of Spencer’s entire life. When they broke apart, Hank stuffed his hands in his pockets.</p><p>Spencer let the words spill out before he lost his nerve. “I’ve never had a family like this,” he admitted, eyes looking around the shop, drifting across the photos on the wall. “It’s, um— it’s a little overwhelming to be honest. I’m not used to being accepted so easily, without conditions, without having to water myself down or change the way I am.” He could hear the thickness in his own voice, but he pushed himself to continue. “I thought that Y/N’s acceptance was enough, and it— it would have been. She loves me enough to make up for all the rest. But then you and Rose and everybody just— you just let me in without hesitation, and I— there aren’t words for how thankful I am.”</p><p>Hank nodded, and Spencer continued, “I’m especially thankful because it makes this next part a lot easier.” He looked at Hank then. “Four hundred and five days ago, I knew that I was in love with your daughter. Two months after that, I— I broke her heart, and it was… the worst mistake of my life.” He shook his head, and swiped at the tears he couldn’t keep from spilling over. “She gave me a second chance; one I probably didn’t deserve. And I’m still convinced that I’ll never be good enough for her.” He took a deep breath. “But I spent the last three hundred days trying my hardest, and I’d like to spend the rest them proving that I can— that I can be the man she deserves. That I can be her lighthouse, her compass, her anchor— anything and everything she needs. For the rest of my life.”</p><p>Hank stood quietly for a long moment, considering him. Spencer held his breath. “A month ago I told you that she needs someone who tries his best, and who shows her respect and honesty,” Hank reminded him. Spencer nodded. “That was pretty damn honest, son.” Hank eyed him carefully. “But if you break her heart again, I’ve got four hundred acres and a backhoe. I’m sure you don’t need any more explanation of what I’m gettin’ at.”</p><p>“No, sir.”</p><p>“Good.” Hank made his way toward the door. “Now let’s get inside. It’s freezin’ out here.”</p><p>…</p><p>When all the kids were packed up and ready to head home, the eight of them stood in the foyer for a solid half hour. <em>A Southern goodbye</em>, Y/N had told him, <em>is never shorter than thirty minutes</em>. Spencer soaked up every minute of it, cheeks flushed from the warmth of the furnace and the joy of being part of this family.</p><p>“All right,” Rose said, finally shooing them out the door. “Weatherman said there’s a winter storm blowin’ through, and I don’t want any of y’all gettin’ caught in it.”</p><p>With final hugs and kisses goodbye, they headed out to their cars, Lee and Y/N shoving each other playfully as the rest of them grinned.</p><p>“I better see you before next Christmas,” Lee called, opening his driver’s side door.</p><p>“Y’all do know that you can visit DC, too, right?” Y/N asked.</p><p>Lee smirked. “Yeah, but then I can’t rag on you, and what’s the fun in that?”</p><p>Y/N rolled her eyes as she opened the driver’s side door. “You’re the worst, you know that?”</p><p>“Love you, too, sis!”</p><p>Y/N waved to the other three before climbing behind the wheel. Spencer slid into the passenger seat, relishing in the warmth of the car. When they were buckled in and pulling out of the driveway, Y/N turned to Spencer. “So, your first Y/L/N Christmas. What’d you think?”</p><p>Spencer hummed. “It was perfect.” He rubbed the hem of his new sweater between the pads of his fingers. “The first of many, I think.”</p><p>Y/N smiled and reached for his hand over the console. “I like the sound of that.”</p>
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